Hetalians in the Hunger Games
by clarinet97
Summary: At the World Conference, the Hetalian nations are kidnapped by a dark man known only as Panem. Now, 24 of them must compete in the Hunger Games, a literal fight to the death. Only one can win, but who will it be?
1. Chapter 1: The Reaping

**This is my try at a Hetalia/ Hunger Games crossover. Please leave a review, and tell me what you think ! **

The soft, golden Fall sun shone gently on a town square, where a large mass of people were

assembled. Birds tweeted in the air, the most prominent of which was the musical cry of the mockingjay. The people gathered in the town square shift about nervously, boys on the right side, girls on the left. Nearly all the people were adults, save for a few children, and were staring intently at a pink clad women standing on a podium in the center of the town sqaure.

"Welcome, welcome!" the women cried sweetly, "I am Effie Trinket, a representitve from the Capitol, and I'm glad to have the honor o selecting some of you for the honor of competing in the sixty-sixth annual Hunger Games! Now as you may know, we're in for a special Hunger Games this year, instead of choosing two tributes from each of Panem's twelve districts, the Capitol had decided to reap tributes from the population of Hetalians, to add a nice little twist. As usaul, there will be twelve male and twelve female competitors. So without further ado, let us begin!"

Effie mader her way over to the large, glass ball that held the female names. "Ladies first!" she grinned, reaching a long, pink tinted finger into the ball, "Our female Hetalian tributes are...Hungary!" a pretty lady with long, flowing light brown hair and green eyes, wearing a matching green dress stepped up on a stage overlooking the town sqaure, "Belgium!'' At this a tall, blond lady stepped up next to Hungary, "Belerus!" A teenage girl with blond hair tied up in a black bow, and donning a blue dress stepped forward, as Effie reached another finger into a bowl like a cat gleefully snagging a mouse. "Ukraine!" Cleavage giggling, a women with massive breasts and short cropped hair gulped and joined the other three tributes, "Liechtenstein!" a small, young girl with short blond hair fixed with a pink ribbon, and dressed in a Swiss army outfit, came forth, glancing at the males for a sign of her older brother, Switzerland.

Pausing momentarily, Effie turned around to glance at the five chosen tributes, then quickly turned back to the female ball, "Taiwan! Monaco!" Two young girls, about Leichtstein's age, walked forth together. The former wore a pink gown, and had long, black hair with a pink flower in it. The latter girl, Monaco, wore a white blouse and skirt, and had light brown hair and glasses perched on her nose. "And bringing up the rear are Wy, Sabarga, Seychelles, and last but not least, Luxembourg!" The final four tributes, all small girls no older than maybe fourteen walked up onto the stage, looks of shock, terror, or discomptentment on their faces.

From his standing postion at the back of the male group, England saw the looks and sounds of the male candidates as they heard the female names called. When Hungary was selected, Austria, her Boyfreind, let out a loud wail, and had to choke back a sob. Upon hearing Ukraine and Belarus's names, Russia, a tall man with a scarf and brown trenchcoat, buried his head in his hands. Lichtensteinds older brother, Switzerland, even tried to rush up to her on stage, but two rough gaurds known as peacekeepers pushed him back gruffly. England didn't know any of the peacekeepers personally, but he already hated them anyway.

"Now for the gentleman!" Effie smiled, striding to the glass balls containg the boy's names. "Russia!" The man froze, then shook his head and bounded up the stage, joining his two sisters. "America!" A loud, obnoxious man with glasses and a bomber coat waved to the ground, acting as if he was winning the lottery rather than being chosen for almost certain death. "Geramany!" At this, a tall, muscular man wearing a gray army outfit grunted and stepped up. England gulped. Germany was a ruthless killing machine, practically built for games like these. It was extremly sad to see such small girls like Wy and Seychelles pitted up against him.

Effie went on, "Next, France!" A man with a blue cape and shaggy blond hair smiled at the mass of people and the ameras set up along the poles lining the town spuare's perimeter. He tossed a red rose to Effie, who blushed slighlty. "Oh, well thank you. Our next tributes are China, Japan, Poland, Finland, Italy, Sealand, Prussia-" The next six tributes filed onto the stage. China and Japan looked somewhat similar to each other, both wearing white suits and having black hair. China bounded over to Taiwan, his self proclaimed student, who frowned at him and turned away.A large, hard lump formed in England 's was his younger brother, and was still a small child, no older than twelve years old... Finland and Poland were both quite cheery people, and decent fighters. Italy (or really North Italy) was a very flamboyant young man. He had brown hair with a pronounced curl sticking out of it, and was never seen without a full plate of pasta. Despite his high carbohydrate intake, he was actually still rather weak.

Prussia was an albino man, and Germany's older brother. England thought Prussia seemed to have some pretty good fighting skills, no doubt a trait shared with his brother. Effie leered at the remaining people like a toad at the verge of devouring a tasty fly. WIth a pronounced flourish, she reached into the bowl, and withdrew the last name for the reaping. "Our final tribute is...England!"

**Please, review !**


	2. Chapter 2: Leaving

England felt as if a huge, iron hand had just slapped him across the face. Eleven of the thirteen tributes had already been selected, even if his little brother Sealand was among them, and the very last tribute to be called was him. Just on a defiant face, England clenched his hand into fists, and marched up onto the stage with the other twenty three tributes that he would either have to kill, or they would have to slaughter him. All just for some sadisitic entertainmetn for the twisted Capitol dwellers. Also, needless to say, the git Panem was on the top of England's hate list, simply for dragging all the Hetalians into this gaint clusterfuck. (Yes, England is mad enough to cuss by now!)

"And there have our twenty four brave tributes," Effie announced, motioning to the group. The crowd in the sqaure remained stoic, knowing that this could very well be the last time they ever saw these particular nations. The pink clad women then turned toward the tributes. "You have ten minutes to exchange a few words with your loved ones. After that, we will head toward the train station to the Capitol."

One by one, reaped tributes filed off the stage, and saught out their loved ones in the crowd. England, having nobody he really had to say good-bye to, merely let out an irritated grunt and sat down on the stage steps, figeting anxiously. For all he knew, this could very well be the last time he ever saw this strange little town where the captured Hetalians were made to live. He would miss it though. China ran an exellent restaurant near the square, and England always enjoyed going to Italy's pasta bar, even if the host was quite loud and way too hyper.

England felt an abrupt tap on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Sealand stading behind him, gazing out at the throng. Hungary and Austrai were exchanging a tearful farewell in the middle of the square, while Switzerland was talking to Leichtenstein, a serious expression on his face. "You look pretty glum," Sealand remarked, taking in his older brother's sulky expression.

England sighed. "Well how could I not be? We're all being forced to kill each other for entertainment, and look at me, I have to compete against my little brother who's not even a real nation in the first place!"

Sealand shook his head pointedly. "I am too a real nation, and you'd better know it! But the Games do suck..." he trailed off, "Still, lots of sibling nations are being forced to fight each other. Like Russia and his sisters, or China and Japan, even if nobody actaully thinks China's their older brother. And not to mention, America is your younger brother too!"

"Sometimes I actaully want to kill him anyway, though..." England muttered, "But still, how can you act so cheery now?"

"I'm just trying to make the best of it, and I'm not a sourpuss like you!" Sealand replied, as Effie climbed back onto the stage.

She cleared her throat. "Alright, all tributes please return to the stage now," she instructed coolly. England had to hold back a wave of tears when the tributes had to say a final good-bye. Austrai and Hungary embraced one another tightly, both sobbing profously. China hugged all of his Panda Bears, while Japan exchanged a wistfull farewell with his pet cats, promosing them that his freind Greece would look after them while he was away. Meanwhile, America proudly boasted about his victories in previous wars, not at all worried about the fate ahead of him.

Slowly, the tributes stomped back up onto the stagae like innocent lambs heading to the slaughterhouse, which was pretty much the way everyone felt right now. After making sure that all the tributes were present, Effie, along with several of peacekeepers led the competitors to the trainstation, an impressive underground structure that buzzed with the bustle of trains, people, and shops. The tributes looked very much like prisoners, Effie leading the way and all of them following her in a single file line, peacekeepers watching their every move, preventing any chance of escape. No one talked along the way either, each person to preoccupied with their minds no doubt filled with all sorts of emotions: anger, fear, sadness, and more.

"Ah, here we are!" Effie grinned upon reaching a large, luxurious looking train. Even standing outside of it, England could see pink silk shades pulled over the crystal windows, and the exterior of the locomotive was painted a beatiful ruby color, which looked a bit like blood. "Now, each of you have your own compartment, and while you're on the train, you can read this book which explains the Hunger Games to you better than what you may have already heard," she said, handing each Hetalian tribute a leatherbound book as they calmbered abaord the train.

England was right to assume the train was luxurious. A plush gold carpet ran through the hallways, and each of the mahogany compartment door had a window with a sahde that could be pulled down at will. The tributes quickly settled into their compartments, England choosing one near the back of the train, hoping to get the most peace and privacy. The inside of his compartment was the most plush of all. A large bed with soft white sheets stood in the corner, and a soft, red armchair was perched in front of a television, so the tributes could watch tapings of previous games, a box of which was set on the bed. Another door off to side led to a bathroom, with a grand shower that had tempeture control, and multiple showerheads.

"Okay," England murmered wistfully, laying down on his soft, comfortable bed, "let's just get this all over with."


	3. Chapter 3: The Capitol

The luxary train chugged towards the Capitol, and for many Hetalians, toward their deaths. Most of the competitors kept to themsleves, watchng old Hunger Games tapes, reading the books Effie had given them, and trying to devise their strategies for the Games.

"Oh, that's enough for one day!" England said, covering his eyes as he watched a clip from the eight Games, where conestants were brutally beating each other to death with their bare hands. He quickly slid off his bed, and shut the flat screen TV off. In addition to watching tapes of old Games, England also reviewed his book over and over. This Hunger Games was certainly differant from the usaul. For one thing, the whole age rule was thrown out the window, as many nations had been around for centuries, but some, like Sealand...England buried his head in his hands. Sealnd was his baby brother, and he had to protect him in the arena. It took all of England's strength not to think about what some people like Germany would do if they caught a hold of little Sealand.

England also imagined that the Twelve districts of Panem, sort of like their regions, or provinces, were enormously relieved right now, they didn't have to send their children to their deaths. For one year, the district's childrens lives had been spared. A rush of hatered pulsed through England. Panem. That was who had kidnapped the nations at the World Conferance. But as much as England wanted to jump out the train now and kill himself as a sign of defiance to Panem, he knew it would be no use. Besides, his life was better used saving little Sealand. If it came down to England and his younger brother, Sealand could have the title. England didn't care about some stupid victor's title, and at least it might put some happiness in Sealand's life.

Sighing, England reached toward the small, silver telephone that lay on his bedside table, and ordered yet another serving of beef stew. Tributes could order practically whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Also, England knew it was a good idea to pack on some pounds before the Games. As he had seen in some of the past Games, it could make a big difference in your odds of survival. England could only imagine how many pounds fat food loving America had gained by now. He was probably the size of a small whale at least. While gobbling down his rich stew, England gazed out his crystal window. In the distance, he could see a vast, blue expanse of water, and several small boats out on it, casting nets into the sea. This must be District Four, which produced seafood for the Capitol.

Outside, the sky started to darken, the sun sinking beneath the horizon. "Maybe I should get to bed, we'll probably be in the Capitol by tommorow...big day," England yawned. After showering in his large, comfortable shower, England crawled into his soft bed. For all he knew, this could be his last peaceful night...

"Alright, everyone!" Effie Trinket's voice squealed through the loudspeakers that were connected to each compartment. "In five mintues or so, we will be arrving at your destination in the Capitol, please prepare yourselves at this time." England shot out of bed. He must've been deep asleep when the train passed through the remaining three districts. Eyes drifting toward his window, England saw a huge expanse of massive buildings in the distance. The Capitol city of Panem was grander than any city back home, even Japan's super densely populated Tokyo.

Slowly, the train pulled into a stop in a Capitol station. The whole thing was made out of pure marble, and inlaid with exensive gemstones, emerald, rubies, and even diamonds. While many of Panem's districts suffered in poverty, the Captiol spared no expense to make their city the most lavish thing in the world. Slowly, all twenty four tributes stepped off the train, gazing around at the station. "Come on, come on!" Effie motioned, walking briskly toward three sleek, balck cars with tainted windows, limos. "That's itm eight to a car," Effie trilled, as the contestans filed inside the automobiles. England spotted his brother, Sealand filing into the first car, and followed him.

The insides of the limos put Germany's car buisness to shame. The sofas were soft, and covered in smooth, black leather that contests could control the level of softness. A thick, red carpet lined the floor, much like that on the train. Tainted windows allowed the tributes to look outside, bet no one on the outside could see them. A black curtain seperated the backseats from the driver. On Effie's insturctions, the cars all wheeled out of the train station parking, and began to drive toward their destination, a fancy building that served as both a hotel and training area for Hunger Games contestants. Engalnd barely noticed that the car was drving, it moved smoothly and effortlessly through the city.

Aside form the grand skyscrapers, beatifully paved streets, and various shops, perhaps the most interesting thing of all was the people of the Capitol. Some had skin purposely tainted different colors, like blue, green, pink or purple. Some of the citizens had animal parts, like cat whiskers, reptile scales, or snake eyes. All in all, the Capitol truly was the most strange, breathtaking, and lavish place England had ever seen. Sealand was also glancing out the windows, gasping every so often when he saw a strangly altered person. Aside from Sealand, England noticed he saw also sitting with Hungary, Belarus, Russia, Ukraine, Japan, and Wy, a tiny girl even younger than Sealand with bushy eyebrows.

After about half an hour, the car pulled to a stop in front of a massive skyscraper set aside from the rest of the Capitol. One by one, the tributes walked out of the car and into the hotel/training center. The lobby was magnifecent. Like the capitol train station, it was made out of pure marble embedded with precious gems. In the center of the lobby, in the middle of a lounge are filled with push red sofas and armchairs, a fountain that seemed to be made out of pure diamonds gurgled softly.

Each tribute was handed a white card key, for their rooms. "Okay," Effie began, stepping inm front of the throng of tributes, "You have each been assigned a room, which is where you will sleep for your time here. Breakfast is severed every morning at nine, lunch at noon, and dinner at six P.M. At tem o'clock each day, you are to report to the training room-" she paused, pointing to a set of large double doors, "-where you will have the oppurtunity to test out some of your skills for the Games. At eight tonight, each of you will be assigned a stylist, who will dress you in an outfit for the parade showcasing our tributes!"

_Yeah, why not. Just show us off like we're impressive cattle going to the sluaghterhouse!_ England thought bitterly, biting the inisde of his cheek. Scowling darkly, England walked into one of the many elevators, which, like everything else in the Capitol, was fir for a king, and rode up to the third floor, where his room was. A large, bright yellow poster was plastered on the elevator wall. Two more weeks until the Hunger Games, two more weeks to live.


	4. Chapter 4: Parade

"Just sit still," England's stylist, a tall, think women with extremely short black hair and huge hoop earings, name Willow, instructed. England did as she said, sinking back into the leather barber's chair he was positioned in. While Willow began gutting gel and other products in his hair, England stared around at the room he was sitting in, taking in the plain navy blue walls, hardwood floor, and floor length mirrors reflecting his figure right back at him.

Willow suddenly moved toward England with a long, thin sheet of sticky white paper, that, only too late, England realized the prurpose of. "AHHH WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU CRAZY WOMEN!" he screamed as the paper ripped across his forhead, sending a sharp pain whoozing thorugh him like he had been stung be a million bees.

"Finally!" Willow exclaimed, sighing in relief. "Those bushy things just had to go! What would the audience think?" England glanced back at the mirror. Only two thin, wispy lines of hair remained above each eye. He reached up to touch his forehead. Definatly a lot less hair up there.

"Truthfully, I don't give a damn what the audience thinks..." England muttered under his breath, sitting back and folding his arms. "After all, they're the ones who want to see us all fight to the death."

Willow reached into a large wicker basket, and pulled out a bundle of fabric. "Okay, this will be your costume!'' she exclaimed, wrining it out and holding it in front of her client. It was a long, black overcoat trimmed with gold on the edges, and a matching pair of gold trouser that only showed below the knee, due to the long coat, accomponied by a black and gold hat with a makeshift golden hook and eyepatch. "It's a pirate's outfit, but the gold edgings indicate your currnet life as a gentleman, cute, don't you think?"

"Yeah, whatever," England snorted as she began to dress him.

"Ooh, have you been shaving your dick?"

"No, that's...not for you!"

"I see a French flag tatooed on here!"

"Just dress me in the damn costume!"

After a few awkard exchanges, England stood in front of the mirror, twirling around in his classy pirate outfit. Truthfully, the black and gold theme clashed horribly with his green eyes, but it really wasn't like he cared anyway. Just the thought of being paraded in front of brutes (sorry, 'potential sponsers') betting whether you lived or died in the Hunger Games sickened and angered him at the same time.

"And you're all set!" Willow chirped, adding a few final touches of gel to England's thick, blond hair. "Just remember to sit up straight, smile and wave!" she told him, grabbing his arm in a tight brick, and leading the Brit down a plain, white hallway that lead to the entrance to the gaint stadium where the tributes would be parraded. "Here we are!" she declared, pointing to a heavy, wooden door. "They're all waiting over there! Good luck!"

Snorting slightly, England pushed open the door, and stepped inside a large, circular chamber with a dirt floor, and brick walls surrounding it. On the other end of the room stood another door, leading out into the stadium filled with 'sponsers' who bet on each tribute's lives. Each tribute was assigned a set of two horses fixed with a chariot. In the regular Hunger Games, the horses and chariots reflected the individual attributes of the districts where the tributes were from, but it seemed this time they were made to reflect each nation's aspects and past. For example. England could see China's chariot, standing near the exit door, was set with a red silk veil covering the sides of it, and the horses, white stallions, had reins filled with images of golden dragons and fireworks.

Right behind China's chariot, England spotted his own, his name stated on the side on bold, golden letters. Striding over to it, England could also see that the horses were beatiful, sleek black paliminos with bright golden blanket-like drapes strown over their backs. The chariot itslef was also golden, but had black specks on it here and there, obsideon maybe? The seat was made of silver silk, smooth and soft to the touch. Even if he had gotten a pervy stylist, England still had a pretty awsome chariot!

"Everyone, please take you places now! The parade is about to begin!" Effie Trinket's sweet voice squealed through the loudpeakers that circumcrossed the room Engaland and the other contestans were currently in. At this announcement, the contestants clambered into their chariots. England's was second in line, right after China's, and directly behind him was Hungary in a dark bronze chariot. Abruptly, with a loud bang, the exit door swung open, and the parde began.

Letting out a whinny, China's horses reared their heads, and started to clonk into the massive stadium, about the size of four American football fields smacked together in a circular shape. Above the tributes, rows upon rows of bleachers rose upwards, seating the potential sponsers, as everybody liked to call them. When China's horses strolled out the door, England's followes suit, bringing him into the staduim. Just before he headed out, England craned his neck and looked for a sign of Sealand. The small boy was at the very back of the row, dressed in a rather cute white sailors outfit with his hair cut short.

The roars and cheers of the crowd were so deafening, England was sure his eardrums had popped like a cap on an overfizzed soda bottle. His horses, along with China's, clonked across the inner perimeter of the stadium,clearly visible to every audience member. High above the ground, multi colored fire works exploded and banged like rockets streaking across the dark blue night sky, letting out a shower of beatiful sparks, but only adding to the din. By now, with the light of the fireworks England could see some of the other tribute's chariotsas the rode across the dirt ground. Germany's was a large, boistrus green one, with two of the largest horses England had ever seen in his long life as a nation.

Behind him, Japan's white and red chariot seemed quite meager to his Axis counterpart's. Both him and his horses were completely white as milk with red dots, stading out against the night sky. A bit further off, Italy's yellow ride looked like it was woven out of pasta, zigzagging lines intersecting throught the outside structure. Italy himslef was dressed in a red suit that was perhaps supposed to represent tomato sauce, but was not getting very much attention from the crowd. The jolly Italian waved and blew kisses at the throng, but was ignored. America's stucture was alos very pronounced, being made to look like a red, white, and blue rocket, with two dark brown horses pulling the arrogant American.

Poland, at the back of the line just if front of Sealand, was trying to pet his gray Arabian horses, much to their irritation, and England was quite sure that the Pole was crooning "Pony, Pony!" to them over and over again, just like he had done when he ordered an entire fleet of 10,000 ponies in meager attempts to fight Germany, which miserably failed. Keeping his directions in mind, England merely sat back in his chariot, and waved at teh crowd, flashing his artificial golden hook at them as he did so. At the very top of the stands, England could see Effie Trinket, nodding down at everything approvingly as if she liked the way this year's batch of tribute's turned out.

"Ladies and Gentleman, we hope you have closely examined our tributes this year, and began to form some ideas for your bets and favorites!" A loud, male voice boomed across the stadium as England horses finished their seventh lap around, making everything still down. It was Claudius Templesmith, England recognized his voice from his broadcasts on previous Hunger Games he had watched while here and on the train. "The Hunger Games starts in thirteen days, so you'd better be ready!"


	5. Chapter 5: Training

_Beep...beep...beep! _

_"_Uh, just five more minutes," England muttered groggily, flipping over in his huge, soft king sized bed. He looked at his alarm clock screen, it read 8:00 A.M, the time he had to get up and go to breakfast before the first day of training began. Sighing heavily, England clambered out of his fluffy bed, and slipped into his mint green bunny slippers. He stumbled into his bathroom, which inluded a bath tub the size of a small swimming pool, and a shower that was at least the as big as his compartment on the train going to the Capitol.

After taking a long, hot steamy shower, England changed into a pair of blue sweats and a plain white t-shirt for the day's training, along with a set of mint green sneakers. "Huh...I really am missing Mint Bunny," England murmered to himself as he rode the elevator down to the base floor. "I hope I can see him before-" England's statement was cut off when the elevator suddenly came to a halt on the second floor, and America clambered in.

The cocky American smirked when he saw England. "Oh, it's you, the one who's going to lose to me!'' he declared proudly, pumping a fist into the air.

"Yeah...whatever," England responded. America was always being the asshole of the world, and this didn't even change when he was preparing for a literal fight to the death. At this time, the elevator came to a halt on the ground floor, and England quickly strolled out, saving himself from further conversation with his rather arrogant 'younger brother'.

Breakfast and all other meals were served in a regal, sophisticated looking room with a red velevet carpet, gold walls, mahaogany tables, plush chairs, and golden lamps bathing the whole room in a rather warm and cozy light. A long table draped with white cloth was pushed against the back wall, holding many different silver platters of food. By now, most other tributes had already eaten, meaning England was late, not that he cared. Sleep was an important thing, and the amount of it he got often times dictated his mood. Grabbing a crystal plate, England loaded it with all sorts of food: bacon, eggs, toast, crumpets, and a large mug of lemon tea. The Brit hungrily wolfed down his food, and sipped his tea.

"Time for training then, I guess..." England snorted as he walked toward the large doors that read 'Training Center' in bold letters. As it turned out, the center was easily the size of the stadium England and the others had been paraded through the night before. A running track looped around the whole room, and different stations dotted the area. There were bows and arrows, spears, swords, kinves, and axes to practice with, accompanied by intructers for each. There were alos stations such as berries, which indicated all kinds of safe and dangerous berries, and fire making, were ttributes could practice building a fire from scratch. Weight lifting and running areas were also present, to build up speed and strength.

England turned to see Effie Trinket striding towards him. "You're late," she scolded, "but you're here. Well as you can see, there are different stations all around here. You can pratice at the ones you choose, and in ten days time you will have a private evaluation with the gamemakers to asses your skills and receive a training score."

"Right." England nodded. Training scores were a vital part in getting sponsers. Tributes were ranked out of twleve. High scores generally meant that one would get many sponseres, but also make them a target for other tributes seeing them as a threat. Low socres mean little to no sponsers, but other tributes normally left one alone until the end of the Games. "Now, where to start...how about swords?" He made his way to the sword station, where a large, bald man, the instructor, was showing another tribute, Hungary, England thought, how to properly grip a sword. England selected a medium sized, average looking sword with a steel blade and a wooden handle out of a steel rack filled with the weapons.

Five minutes later, the sword lay forgotten in a corner, the dummies which tributes were meant to practice their weapons on remained unscathed, and England was nursing a painful cut on his lower left leg, courtesy of his own horrendous swordplay. "Not the weapon for me," he groaned, wrapping a bandage over his cut. But Japan seems pretty good at it," Indeed, the Asian nation was effortlessly slashing apart dummies, using a long sword with a curved blade. "Maybe I should try another station."

Next, England decided to try archery. The instructory, a young, musclular women with long brown hair, seemed to grow tired of telling England the same things over and over again, as the Brit could barely even get the arrow into the bow. However, England was actually pretty decent with knives. While at this station, he saw Leichtenstein, who was simply amazing, The small girl was fast enough to get a stab in on moving dummies, and she had good accuracy with throwing knives. Her older brother Switzerland must've taught her a thing or two. England himselft was able to get close enough to the dummies to stab them, and had pretty good aim while throwing, at least he could use kinves better than swords or bows. For his last station of the day, England went to spears. He stumbled up a bit at first, but after a few pointers from the instructor, he could jab and hit dummies in the sides, and was even able to get a stab in the chest

"Okay," the instructor, a middle aged man with short black hair, began, "now try throwing your spear to get a hit in on the moving dummy," he said, pointing to a dummy that was shifting sideways and back and forth.

"Well, I'll try..." England trailed off. Thrwoing spears looked difficult, after all. Taking a deep breath, England pulled back his right arm, which he used to throw, and thrusted the spear forward. His eyes snapped shut just as he heard a _pang_. England opened his eyes. The spear was lodged right in the middle of the dummy's chest, where a person's heart would be.


	6. Chapter 6: Private Assesment

**I would like to thank anyone one who is reading this now, I'm thrilled that people actaully look at this ! I'd also like to give a special thank you to SailorZeldaTheLightAlchemist, .Dolum, and TheOrangeNeko for reviewing so far. **

For the next nine days, England trained as hard as he ever had in his life. He became a master at

fighting with spears, both close distance and throwing, was able to learn lots of new techniques for fighting with knives, and even made a little bit of progress with swords. He still remained hopeless at archery. In addition to learning how to fight, England also visted the berry and fire making stations. He tried to remember which berries were poisoness and which ones safe, and learned how to make a fire with only some twigs and leaves, even if the instructor got creeped out when he chanted 'magic' phrases in front of fires.

During the time, England also learned some things about the other tribute's fighting strengths. Like he had observed earlier, Japan was a master at using swords, and Leichtenstein probably knew twenty different ways to kill with a knife. However, the Brit also noticed that Hungary was good at archery and axes, the latter of which England hadn't even tried to usefor fear of cutting himself up. Germany and his older brother Prussia exelled at pretty much all the weapons, but got agitated when it came to building fires or identifying berries. America did well at the axe and sword stations, but, like Germany and Prussia, couldn't tell a dangerous berry from an edible one to save his life.

But one other tribute that England really kept an eye on was his little brother Sealand. The small boy was decent at archery and using knives, and could pick out most poisenous berries. Additionally, Sealand was alos fast. England saw him racing around the track, outrunning tributes like France and Russia with ease. France. England's number one rival. He had seen the Frenchman do very well at fighting with swords and bows and arrows. If there was one tribute England wouldn't have a problem with killing, it would be France. Or America...at times.

Before he knew it, England was standing outside a the entrance with a room that was currently closed, a red sign stating 'in prgress' next on its large, metal door. He could not see or hear anything that was going on.

For the next nine days, England trained as hard as he ever had in his life. He became a master at fighting with spears, both close distance and throwing, was able to learn lots of new techniques for fighting with knives, and even made a little bit of progress with swords. He still remained hopeless at archery. In addition to learning how to fight, England also visted the berry and fire making stations. He tried to remember which berries were poisoness and which ones safe, and learned how to make a fire with only some twigs and leaves, even if the instructor got creeped out when he chanted 'magic' phrases in front of fires.

During the time, England also learned some things about the other tribute's fighting strengths. Like he had observed earlier, Japan was a master at using swords, and Leichtenstein probably knew twenty different ways to kill with a knife. However, the Brit also noticed that Hungary was good at archery and axes, the latter of which England hadn't even tried to usefor fear of cutting himself up. Germany and his older brother Prussia exelled at pretty much all the weapons, but got agitated when it came to building fires or identifying berries. America did well at the axe and sword stations, but, like Germany and Prussia, couldn't tell a dangerous berry from an edible one to save his life.

But one other tribute that England really kept an eye on was his little brother Sealand. The small boy was decent at archery and using knives, and could pick out most poisenous berries. Additionally, Sealand was alos fast. England saw him racing around the track, outrunning tributes like France and Russia with ease. France. England's number one rival. He had seen the Frenchman do very well at fighting with swords and bows and arrows. If there was one tribute England wouldn't have a problem with killing, it would be France. Or America...at times.

Before he knew it, England was standing outside a the entrance with a room that was currently closed, a red sign stating 'in prgress' next on its large, metal door. He could not see or hear anything that was going on.

After a few mintues, the metal door peeked open, and Hungary, having finished her private assesment, walked out. A throat cleared inside the room, "England Kirkland."

Nerves rattling, England stumbled through the door, and looked around the room. Racks of weapons lined one wall, swords spears, kinves, axes, and bows. Dummies were stored in a bin next to the racks. On the other side of the room, a panel of three gamemakers , two men and a women, of which England only recognized Seneca Crane, the head gamemaker, were sitting in a booth, looking at England intently. The Brit took another look at the supplies. Spears, kinves, and dummies. That was all he needed.

Grabbing a blank faced dummy from the bin, England took out a long, sharp knife from the rack, and carved something into its chest with his back turned to the panel so the gamemaker's wouldn't see. Then, England grabbed a metal tipped spear, and tossed the dummy into the air. As he did so, he thrust the spear forth with all his strength, closing his eyes. The spear and the dummy met in the air, the former brining the latter pinned against the wall above the gamemakers. Quickly, England wheeled around and grabbed two knives from the rack. Using both arms, he threw them at the dummy stuck on the whole by the spear. Both knoves lodged themselves right on the dummy's blank face.

All three gamemakers craned their necks around to look at the dummy on the wall above them. Their eyes widened as the saw the name carved onto the dummy's chest. _Panem. _

"Okay, that is enough, you may go," Seneca told England, a blank expression on his face, as the other gamemakers jotted down some notes on a sheet. Not having to be told twice, England wheeled around, and rushed out of the room. England was the last tribute to be assesed, so he wouldn't have to wait long for the training scores to be revaeled. The Brit walked through the training room and into the hotel lobby, collapsing onto a bench, looking at a large television screen that was flashing white, waiting for the scores to be broadcasted. The other twenty three tributes and Effie were in the lobby as well, staring at the multiple screens around the area.

With a beep, the screen turned blue, and the scores appeared in white letters. Hands shaking and chest heaving, England looked up.

**America- 10**

**Belgium-7**

**France-7**

**Ukraine-5**

**Russia-8**

**Belarus-8**

**Poland-7**

**Wy-5**

**Finland-7**

**Seychelles-6**

**Germany-11**

**Leichtenstein-9**

**Japan-10**

**Taiwan-7**

**China-9**

**Sabarga-4**

**Prussia-11**

**Monaco-3**

**Sealand-8**

**Luxembourg-6**

**North Italy-5**

**Hungary-10**

The list of names paused momentarily, England was jiggling his legs nervously, the last name and score were his...

**England-12**


	7. Chapter 7: Launch

The day of the Games dawned bright and clear. A pristine shade of light blue streaked across the cloudless sky, and the sun shone brightly, peeking through the windows of a certain Hunger Games tribute's room.

England yawned as sat up in his fluffy bed, staring at the golden beam of sunlight that shined on his face. Even though this could very well be the day he died, the Brit had a certain joyous feeling in his stomach. Last night, he'd fallen asleep smiling, then remembered why. England had gotten a perfect twelve on his private assesment with the gamemakers, the highest of all twenty four tributes. He had thought that he would do poorly, considering that the dummy he'd speared against the wall was represented as Panem, the man who personified this sadistic nation, and who was glorified by most of its citizens. But then again...he would be a labeled target.

After taking one last long, hot shower, slathering many scented oils and soaps on himself, brushing his teeth, and dressing, England headed downstairs, where the tributes were all packed in the lobby, looking up at Effie Trinket. She was rambling that each tribute would be guided to their inividual launch rooms, where they would be sent up into the arena from, in two hours. They were free to spend their remaining time as they wished.

Being quite hungry, England went to have breakfast, which also might be his last proper meal. The Brit spared no extravagance. He piled his plate with bacon, sausages, eggs, toast, hashbrowns, potatoes, and took a large glass of tea. Despite the fact that these were some of his very favorite foods, England had difficulty eating, feeling like he was forcing blocks of dirt down his throat. He settled on just the crumpets and bacon, and of course the tea, hydration was important. England wasn't the only one taking this oppurtunity to put some food in his belly. China was strolling about the dining room, sampling every food that was offered. America was shoving large amounts of bacon and eggs into his mouth, leering at the other tributes like the arrogant prick he was.

Finally, England set his plate aside, and went out into the lobby. Russia was just sitting on a sofa, gazing mindlessly into space as Belarus smiled creepily at him, and Ukraine sobbed that she wasn't good enough to be in the Games. Japan was silent, pacing around the garish lobby with his head down. Wy was dabbing her paintbrush into a pot of berry juice and painting the walls, earning herself several annoyed glances from the hotel receptionist. England leaned against the wall, watching the other tributes and digesting his breakfast. He wondered what Sealand was doing. Maybe some last minute training, like Germany and Prussia. But England wasn't going to do that and risk other tributes finding out his secrets in the final moments.

At last, after a while of England trying to get his nerves under control, and pacing numerous times around the lobby, Effie announced it was time for launch. At once, twenty four different stylists walked to each tribute, England getting Willow, the women who had styled him for the parade. She grabbed his arm, and led him to the back of the hotel, a bare, dingy place with no windows or light, and pushed open a sleek black door. Inside was a long, white, lighted tunnel, leading to the launch room, which was really more like the last stop before the slaughterhouse. England wondered how many other tributes had faced their final moments in a tunnel with some random stylist, knowing they would probably never see their loved ones again.

As the tunnel widened into a plain, completely white room with a clear cylinder in the middle of it, the force hit England like a ton of bricks. In less than five minutes, he could be laying on some barren arena floor, lifeless as a ragdoll, with some helicopter picking him up and shipping him back to the Hetalian village in a plain, wooden box. The Brit was dimly aware of himself breathing heavily in long, drawn out breaths. His legs quivered, and his hands shook uncontrolably, as Willow guided him to the cylinder, the plastic around it lifting so that England could step on the metal plate.

"Remember," Willow began, "avoid the others, and try to get to a good place with water."

"Right." England nodded curtly, his mouth barely opening.

"Two minutes until launch," A smooth, cool female voice announced through a loudspeaker, audible in every launch room. Heart poudning in his ears and blood pounding through his veins, England stared around his launch room again. It was bright and white, like a resting place before death. Also, it would never be used again after today. Launch rooms were like napkins, used once then thrown out. Willow smiled at him encouraginly, a gesture which England could not return, as every muscle in him was stretched tighter as a stiff rubber band. It took nearly all of England's willpower not to go into hysterics as the plastic cylinder began to close down around him, and the plate he was standing on began slowly mocving upwards through a black tunnel. After about thrity seconds, the plate came to halt and the cylinder lifted.

_This is it._ England thought. Around him he could see a field of grass, just like one would find in an ordinary back yard. To his right was a line of trees, leading into a forest. In the distance England could see a white, snow capped mountain, and the distinct scent of salty air drifted from behind England, indicating the presence of a body of salt water nearby. All twenty four tributes were arranged in a circle, in the middle of which stood the golden Cornucopia, shaped like a horn that food could be served in, and flowing with things that could easily make the difference of life or death in the arena: food, clothing, shelter, supplies, and weapons. Different items were scattered around the tributes as well, decreasing in value the further away they were from the Cornucopia.

Hungary stood on England's direct left, and Wy on his right. The tension filling the air between all the tributes was so thick one could cute it clean in half with a knife, like a hunk of soft cheese. Everyone's eyes were trained on the Cornucopia, determined to get the supplies that could save them. England stared down at his green shirt and pants. Going to the Cornucopia would be suicide, but he needed supplies, everybody did. As the last few second trickled away (tributes were required to wait sixty seconds before being released from their plates) Cladius Templesmith, the announcer's, voice rang throughout the arena.

"Ladies and gentleman! Let the sixty-sixth annual Hunger Games begin!"


	8. Chapter 8: The Games Begin

**I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed or subscribed so far, thanks guys !**

Chaos ensued. The clear sound of a gong emitted throughout the arena, and at once, twenty four

tributes sprinted from their plates, the sounds of yells, shouts, and screams floating through the air. Most ran toward the Cornucopia, determined to get the best supplies. England, however, knew this would lead to almost certain death. Instead, he ran the perimeter of the circle of plates, snatching up a few items that lay on the ground. Although they weren't as good as what lay in the large golden horn, they were still worth scavenging, and better than nothing. He grinned as he saw a meduim sized, bright green pack laying just a few feet in front of him. Packs always held good supplies. He lunged for it.

But just before he reached it, another figure dashed forward and picked it up. Just as they did so, thy paused momentarily to look up at England, standing just before them. The Brit narrowed his eyes, and kicked whoever it was right in the face. They let out a scream, and clasped their hands tightly over their mouth. For good measure, England kicked them once more in the stomach, causing them to keel over, whimpering weakly. England snatched the pack and hoisted it onto his back. The figure started to get up just as a long, sharp metal blade dug into their back, and they crumpled to the ground, never to rise again.

Quickly wheeling around, England looked at the slain figure. It was a male, with shaggy blond hair, not France, as England might have liked, but Poland. His killler was nearby. With a mighty roar, a tall male wrenched the knife out of Poland's back and turned toward England, it was Germany. He grunted and appraoched the Brit, waving his knife, around. England looked at his surroundings for anything to defend himself. There was nothing. Germany narrowed his eyes, and jabbed at England, who squeaked in fright. That was when his defensive instincts kicked in, as adreneline charged through as veins. He held up the pack in front of himself just as the knife sank into the fabric. Germany gasped, and England smacked his hand away and wrenched out the knife.

"Prussia!" Germany shouted. Right on cue, the tall albino man ducked out of the Cornucopia, a malicous grin on his face, and a bloody throwing knife in each hand. Smirking, the egocentric albino threw them both. Not wasting a moment, England ducked and ran away, his feet carrying his as fast as they could. He heard the panging sound of knives sticking into wood. That must mean he was fleeing into the forest...and that Prussia had missed.

"No, he's not worth it! We should just finish off everyone here!" Someone shouted on a thick German accent from about fifty yards away. Another voice growled in agreement, and England sighed in relief. He was safe. For the time being, no one was frantically chasing him. Panting heavily, England leaned back against one of the many tall oak trees that made up the forest. The leaves were a pleasant orange color, and the provided shade from the hot sun. Cool, soft dirt and fallen leaves lined the floor, and a gentle breeze rustled the tree tops. The sounds from the Cornucopia were getting softer. The opening blood bath must be coming to a close. There were always a large amount of tributes that died on the first day, but England hoped desperatly that Sealand wasn't one of them. He would find out in the sky later tonight.

"I should probably get deeper into the forest now, though..." England muttered to himself. He checked out the items he had snatched from the Cornucopia. A loaf of bread. It was still warm, and was dark brown with little seeds in it. He also got a water bottle that was, luckily, half full, and a brown military blanket. His pack contained a bottle of water purifier, that was quite useful, and a small tin of dried meat. England put all his items into his pack, and set off again. holding his knife in his right hand, and listening for any sounds or signs of other tributes. The forest remained calm, execpt for the cheery tweeting of birds. Birds. How could birds still sing in this horrible place?

As he headed deeper in the forest, the trees became thicker and more tightly packed together. Occasionly, small rays of sunlight were able to penetrate the thick canopy, making spots of light on the ground. Squirrels scampered up tree trunks, and furry rabbits hopped across England's path. He smiled every time he saw one of the cute animals. They reminded him of flying Mint Bunny back home. Mint Bunny could always cheer England up, no matter what. Most of the other Hetalians thought England was crazy, becuase they couldn't see Mint Bunny or any of England's mythological friends, but they were probably just being asses as usaul.

He sat down on a flat rock, taking a short swig from his water bottle. England knew he had to be careful to make this water last as long as it possibly could. The same went for his bread and dried meat. "This looks like an okay place to stay..." England mused. The tall oak trees provided plenty of cover and shelter, and there was a large hole in the ground a few feet away. Perfect. He could cover up the top with his blanket, and place dirt and leaves on top of that to make it blend in with the rest of the forest floor. No one who passed would ever suspect his hiding place. He could even made a small peep hole to see the faces in the sky, and to be warned if anybody else came nearby.

Grinning to himself, England set to work; spreading his blanket out on top of the hole, covering it with dirt and leaves, then slipping inside, and carving a small hole in the blanket with his knife. He used his pack as a pillow, and leaned against the dirt wall of the hole. He took out a litttle bit of bread and meat, and ate as he observed the sky darkening outside through his peep hole. Soon enough, Panem's national anthem blared through the whole arena, and its bright seal flashed acrosss the sky, followed by th faces of today's fallen tributes. England held his breath as he saw them pass. Poland, who he had seen killed at the Cornucopia, was a given. Then there was Finland and Saborga, a girl who England didn't really know anything about, Wy, the one who painted the hotel walls, and Seychelles.

England let out a sigh of relief. Sealand had made it past the first day. Maybe tommorow England could go out and find him. But regardless, five tributes on the first day was a meager number compared to previous Hunger Games England had seen. It wasn't even uncommon for half of the tributes to die on the very first day.

"Nineteen of us left..." England murmered, settling down onto the ground, as his eyes began to droop. "Nineteen left."


	9. Chapter 9: Hunted

Footsteps. Footsteps walked along the forest floor, rustling fallen leaves as they went. It was this that caused England to snap awake at once. Trying not to make a single noise, he looked through his peephole outside. It was early morning. The sky was gray, and the sun was slowly starting to rise. England saw three figures. One was a tall, blond haired man. Germany, England thought. Next to him was an albino man, Prussia. To his utter suprise, England saw a smaller, brunette man. Italy...so Germany and Prussia were keeping this weakling around. But what for?

"He's just got to be around here somevhere," Germany grunted in his accent. "We've searched practically the whole forest."

"And I even made some pasta!" Italy exclaimed, waving a wooden spoon with a small piece of white cloth stuck to it around in the air.

Germany turned toward him. "Vill you shut up? There are sixteen other tributes that von't hesitate to kill us, und you shouting stuff vill just give us away!"

"Quiet!" Prussia barked, holding a sword in the air, "I think I just heard something..." All three men fell silent, as they intently raked their eyes across the area, seeing nothing but trees.

"It vas probably just some animal," Germany said. "Italy, vhy don't you go check it out?"

"Okay!" Italy answred, bounding away.

Prussia wrinkled his nose. "Why are you keeping him around? That guy is a total wuss, he can't fight to save his life, which is what we all have to do in here!"

"Ja, but he is very good at scavenging food, und he can tell poisonous berries apart from safe ones very vell." Germany replied, "und he is kind of my only friend...ve should get back to the Cornucopia now..." He trailed off as he and Prussia started to follow Italy. England smiled and collapsed against the wall of his hole. The whole time, he had been almost sure his pounding heart would give him away, but Germany and Prussia had missed him. He was lucky to be alive at all.

Regardless, Germany's and Prussia's conversation had given him useful information. Italy was allied with them, and they were letting him live. England could only imagine how hard the Italian had begged for the two brutes to let him live. Also, the three fo them were camping at the Cornucopia, no doubt hogging all the good supplies, and hunting the forest for tributes at night. England wondered if they had gotten anybody, and if he had not heard the cannon shots. He refused to believe they had gotten Sealand.

Already being fully awake, England decided he might as well get up now. Slowly, he clambered out fo his hole. He had done his job well, the surface was completely hidden in the forest floor. Only problem was that if he had to leave camp, he might not be able to find his hole again. To remedy this problem, he decided to carve signs in nearby trees so he would know that this was the area. It might not work if he had to go out far, but it was better than nothing. England set to work, carving a Union Jack, his country's symbol, on three of the closest oaks with his knife. Then he figured this would alert passersby of his presence, so he just carved blank squares on the trees instead.

"There," England told himself. "I'll be able to to locate my hideout now." By this time, the sun had fully risen, and the forest came to live. Birds flitted around in the air, squirells darted about, and bunnies, which made him think fondly of Mint Bunny, hoppen to and fro. These animals were nice, but England knew he had to hunt, his bread wasn't going to last forever, and he needed more calories that just berries and leaves could provide. He couldn't hunt rabbits, becuase that would be an insult to Mint Bunny, and they were too cute. However, birds and squirells were still fair game, and it would be amazing if he could even find a deer!

This presented him with a whole new problem, his knife alone wasn't enough for hunting. What England really wanted was a spear. There were definatly some by the Cornucopia, but it would be practical suicide to go there, what with Germany and Prussia guarding it, and going into visible sight of other tributes. To make matters even worse, England was a hot target. He was surely labeled as a threat, what with getting a 12 in training and all. England began to pace around, trying to formulate a plan. He needed to get to the Cornucopia to get a better weapon that just his knife. However, he needed to lure at least Germany and Prussia away from there, Italy he could easily pick off by himself.

"Of course!" England exclaimed for himself, maybe a little too loudly. "I can divert them by lighting a bonfire near the edge of the forest, so that would distract at the very least one of them, and then I could kill whoever was still there, and grab a spear and maybe some supplies!" It was a good plan anywhere. Hopefully, the fire would attract both Germany and Prussia, but he also had to be prepared to fight one of them if it came down to that.

"But I also wonder what's beyond the Cornucopia..." England muttered quietly. "I smelled salt water around there on the first day...so maybe a sea or a lake. Maybe I could even hide out there, it might give me a better edge that staying here in the forest." So it was settled. England would light a fire at the edge of the forest, using plenty of green wood for smoke, and snag an item or two from the Cornucopia, and check out the body of water. For good measure, he could throw some clumps of dirt back toward the direction of the forest so Prussia or Germany would think he had fled back to there.

Finalazing his scheme, England shouldered his pack, and began to walk. It would take a few hours to reach the Cornucopia, giving him some time to go over what he was about to do, and coming across wood wouldn't be a problem. All he had to do was cut off some low branches of a tree, the youngest ones. After about an hour of walking, England heard a noise that didn't sound like an animal coming from a tree. He quickly whipped out his knife and looked up. His arch rival France was perched up in a tree, leering down at England.

**Okay, I've been trying to get the next chapter written, but I just have total writers block. Does anyone have any ideas of how the next chapter should work out ? If so please say ! It'd help me, and I'd love to hear your ideas !**


	10. Chapter 10: A Turn of Events

**Thank you to A Natsume Yuujinchou lover and SailorZeldatheLightAlchemist for awsome ideas ! **

France slid down the tree softly and gracefully as a falling leaf. Amazing. Even in this dreadful

arena, the Frenchman still was acting like some girls might be watching for something other than killing him. England narrowed his green eyes, and he thrust his knife arm forward just as France brought the tip of a shap ax to England's left side. The two were in a complete stalemate. England couldn't slit France's throat without getting an ax buried in his side, and France couldn't chop into England without getting his throat rather nastily cut. Both of the men's muscles were tight and stressed, like a taut rubber band ready to snap at any second.

England didn't know how much time passed. A minute maybe, or an hour, or a year. But finally, a grin broke out across France's face. England stared dangerously back. "Well, it appears we are in an interesting sitaution," Frace said, though keeping his ax firmly at England's side. "We can wait until one of us gives out, but more likely the Germans will come and pick us off like we are flies on a wall."

"You're referring to Germany and Prussia, I assume," England responded. His arms were shaking, and his heart pounded even louder than it had even last night when the aftermentioned Germans were hunting him right outside his hole.

"Zat is correct," France assured, flipping his long blond hair aside. "We'll fall to them in seconds."

England bit his lip. France was saying that if the two just stood here, Germany or Prussia would come, and easily pick them off. One couldn't seperate himself from the other without riskng being killed. There seemed to be no way to win, unless...unless they stood together. As much as England hated this idea, he knew it was probably his best shot. England and France had teamed up before to take on Germany, and that had worked better than anything anyone could have expected. Really, the situation here in the arena wasn't that different.

"If we stuck together..."

"Maybe we should..."

Both men trailed off at the same time. France grinned at England, probably thinking the same thing he was. "Is it agreed?" England asked, "That we stick together...but only until Germany and Prussia are dead, do you understand?"

"Yes, zat seems like the best course of action," France leered back. Sighing, England and France both began to very slowly and cautiously lower their respective weapons, ready to strike the other in case he lashed out. Still glaring at each other, England and France shook hands. Their allaince was formed. But allainces in the Hunger Games could only ever be temporary.

"What do you propose we do next?" England inquired France.

France pursed his lips. "I was planning to take out the two Germans by sneaking up at them at night, but they were away from their central camp at ze Cornucopia last night."

"Well I've been thinking differently. I planned to light bonfires at the edge of the Cornucopia at night, and hopefully Germany and Prussia would fall for it, and leave Italy behind maybe, thinking it wouldn't take long, but I could easily kill him. Then I could go in the camp, and steal a good weapon or two, all I have is this," England told France, holding up his humble knife. "It's not as powerful as your ax, or a sword."

"Sounds like a très bien plan, but..." France started shaking his head. "Don't kill Italy. He's a nice guy, and my little brother, he doesn't deserve to die!"

England stared at France, somewhat irritated. "We're supposed to kill people, it's the Hunger Games!"

"Just let him be, bon?"

"Yeah, alright," England reassured France. But it wasn't like he would not pick of Italy if he had the chance. Besides, as soon as the Germans were dead, England and France's allaince would be over, null and void. Having talked things out, the two headed back toward the forest entrance, to the Cornucopia. Along the way, France gathered some branches that could be used to make a bonfire. They were still green on the inside, so would produce plenty of smoke. Perfect. After about an hour of walking, England and France could see the Cornucopia, meaning they were close enough to the German camp and their Italian food scravenger.

"Okay," England muttered to France, "this should be a good spot." The Frenchman nodded, and began to feverishly rub to sticks together to create a spark. As he was doing this, Engladn set the braches France had assembled in a neat stack on the dry ground. Five or so minutes passed, and a small spark from France's sticks sprang onto the branches, followed by several more. It didn't take long for a fire to start, and within minutes they had created a blazing bonfire.

For several moments, all England and France could hear was the croaking of crickets, then a voice rang out. "Over zere!" It shrieked a German accent. England thought it was Germany's. England moved to the edge of the tree line, squated down, and peered out at the scene. Germany, Italy and Prussia were gathered around a large heap of items, the best there were in the arena. Germany was yelling, and pointing toward the fire, as Prussia nodded. They seemed to pause for a split second, before deciding it would be okay to leave Italy to guard the camp for a few minutes while they killed the tribute, then left.

"Here zey come!" France hissed, climbing up into a tree, his ax at the ready. "Hide yourself!" Suddenly, England just couldn't take it anymore. There was a large amount of supplies nearby, and nothing but a wimpy Italian was keeping him from getting some of them. Spears were there, he needed one. As well as extra food and water. Germany and Prussia ran into the trees, and England took off, running out of his shroud of safety and into the Cornucopia. He barely heard France's hisses of protest as he sprinted forward. The golden horn twinkled at him under the corner of his eye, almost as if it was winking. Soft, green grass squished under his feet.

Italy looked up with a help, then smiled. "English guy, it's you. Prepare to be owned by me, the amazing Italy!" He stood up, and grabbed a spear. England's stomach churned with anger. How did this wispy thing get a spear, something England could make such good use of, and the best camp imaginable? Also, he had two strong tributes protecting him, while England deserved this. He was the one who had scored a twelve in training. The only thing Italy had to boast was being a decent food scavenger. The pathetic Italian couldn't hunt, fight, start a fire, or even keep himself hidden.

All that kept him alive was Germany and Prussia's protection. Then there were those who'd died yesterday: Poland, and Seychelles and more, yet Italy had lived. If anything, those who died yesterday deserved life more than pathetic Italy. It wasn't like England cared that he'd told France he'd leave Italy be. In fact, Englad was supposed to be at the edge of the forest with France now, waiting to ambush Germany and Prussia. England drew back his arm and, without thinking, plunged his long, sharp and deadly knife directly into Italy's heart.


	11. Chapter 11: A Fickle Alliance

England had to slam his hand over Italy's mouth to stifle his scream, so as not to give away what had happend here, and make Germany or Prussia come back to kill him. England looked down at the Italian. He was crying weakly, his eyes glossy and tears streaking down his face. The Brit pulled his knife out of Italy's chest, causing him to scrunch up his face in pain. Slowly, England removed his hand from the Italian's mouth. Italy was still sobbing a bit, and a large, gaping and bloody stab wound took up his chest. Italy was convusling, breathing hard, then going still, then breathing once more. His end was near.

"Goodybye, Big Brother..." Italy murmered weakly, his last statement barely audible. Then we went completely still. A canon fired. England stood up, his knife in hand. For good measure, he took Italy's spear, too. Now this was a weapong his could make good use of. Deciding he wouldn't need his knife as much now, he tucked it into his belt, and fingered his spear. It was a good one, with a mahogany shaft and a sharp steel tip. Near Italy, he found another identical spear tip. He could use this as an extra.

Suddenly, the night sky was filled with the loud buzz of something. A hovercraft approaching. Seconds later, the craft appeared, and lifted Italy Veneziano's body up into it with a rope, then took off as quickly as it had appeared. England knew that Italy would be taken to the Capitol, be cleaned and dressed in nice clothes, the shipped back to the Hetalian town where family members would choose to bury him. In the forest edge, the yells of a fight filled the air. England though that should mean France was fighting Germany and Prussia. He should've been helping the Frenchman now, but all hopes of continuing their feeble allaince had ended. England had killed France's younger brother.

The full realization of what he had done kicked in. For a moment, England was crushed by guilt. Italy had family back home. Family who thought he might come back. Family that now loathed England. A scream for close to England snapped his train of though. France was running, or limping, toward the Cornucopia, his right lef bloody and disfigured, and a nasty cut on his left cheek. "I got him!" Prussia shouted, sprinting out of the trees in hot prusuit of France. With a mighty leap, the self centered Germany hurled his sword at France like a throwing knife. It stuck in the Frenchman's back, as France shreiked in pain, and fell to the grounnd. Another deafening canon blast.

That was what brought England back to reality. He ran for it, his spear in hand and his pack still on ihs shoulder. he sprinted toward the scent of salt water, hoping nobody was chasing after him. The land sloped downhill, and the salty scent grew in intesnsity. England could hear the burbling roll of water, and a comforting breeze rustled his hair. This seemed like a good place. England finally stopped running, panting heavily and clutching his side. In front of him, a large expense of water was layed out, no doubt salt. Waves crashed on a sandy beach, which he was stading on now, and large sand dunes dotted the land scape. Tall grasses grew around him. Perhaps these could be good hiding places. It was night, and the sky was still dark. Above him, England saw stars twinkling and shining at him like beautiful diamonds in the sky. It was hard to believe scenes this beatiful could still exist in the Hunger Games.

England looked behind him. He couldn't see the Cornucopia or forest from here, but the large, snowy mountain still loomed in the far distance. He wondered which tributes were hiding there, or fighting each other. Probably Liechtenstein, her country was made up of basically all mountains. Or maybe Russia. The thought of big, scary Russia fighting tiny Liechtenstein made him kind of sad. Luckily, no sounds or signs of a pursuer were evident, things seemed to have calmed down. England wondered how the Germans were reacting to Italy's death. The Italian being gone could only mean one thing.

Abruptly, Panem's national anthem began playing across the entire arena, and its seal flashed across the black sky, followed by Italy's and France's faces. Good, Sealand was still alive. Last night, England learned that there were nineteen tributes left. Two more gone left seventeen Hetalian tributes still standing. The waves lapped against the beach, as England took out some bread and drank a little bit of water, thinking that Sealand may be close to him. He wanted desperatly to have more food and water, but these supplies needed to last. England was lucky to even have them. He pulled out his knife and spear heads, and washed them clean in the salt water, then dried them with his shirt. The Brit wondered if there were any fish or shellfish he could scavenge here. He'd been sweaty profously for the last few days, and his mouth began to water at the prospect of something nice and salty.

"I should be getting to sleep now..." England yawned to himselt. He chose a spot behind a sand dune, so he would be safer in case the Gamemakers decided to pull out a tidal wave or something against him, that also had tall grasses to keep concealed in. Like the previous night, he used his pack as a pillow, but there was no need for a blanket. It was rather warm here, and less creepy or foreboding than the nightime forest. Of course, there was not telling if the Gamemakers would make it ice cold, or seering hot. They could do whatever the wanted, whenever they wanted. The tributes were just pawns in the Hunger Games, and nothing more. This make England wonder if the Gamemakers would pull out anything on England tonight. Perhaps not. Two tributes had died today, and it was only the second night of the Games, so there was still plenty of opening betting going on in the Capitol. The last thing England saw before dozing off was a pair of gleaming eyes glaring right at him.

**Uh oh, what gonna happen next ? Well, England was right to be wondering who's hiding in that mountain. Next chapter we'll switch viewpoints for a bit and see what's going on there...**


	12. Chapter 12: The Asian Nations

**Read and review )**

"I found some berries, aru!" China called as he ducked into the entance of the gray rock cave he, Taiwan, and Japan were staying in. It was located at the base of the mountain, not the easiest area to stay in, and the three Asians were low on food. They couldn't get much from the Cornucopia without risking getting killed by Germany or Prussia...or England.

"Finally," Taiwan groaned reaching toward the small blue fruits, blueberries, in China's arms. "I'm starving!"

China frowned and slapped her hand away, then divided the berries up evenly between the three Asian nations. Despite being a real food, the berries did little to stisfy their hunger. Japan had tried to find meat such as rabbits or squirells earlier, but he couldn't go far without being hunted by Russia, who was hiding out with his two sisters further up the mountain, or little Liechtenstein, who had deadly accuracy with knives. The only weapons China, Japan, and Taiwan possesed were some sharpened sticks. Also, China suspected Japan didn't have the heart to kill small, cute animals. Oh well.

But time was running out. China and the others couldn't live like this for much longer. Already, the three of them had lost a fair bit of weight, and were often freezing cold at night, despite the bit of protection from the elements the cave offered. The only way to up their slim chance of survival were to go to the Cornucopia...but that would mean facing Germany or Prussia, who had weapons like sworads and knives. China grimaced, imaging fighting a sword wielding Prussia with his sharpened stick. The stick wasn't completely useless, though. China, Japan, and Taiwan all knew some martial arts, which included fighting with a staff, something that could be done using their sharpened sticks laying against the cave wall. All three of them were about three feet long, and made from sturdy oak branches with a sharp tip.

Suddenly, China got an idea. "Japan, Taiwan, listen!" He hissed. Japan, who had been sitting quietly against the stone wall, looked up, and Taiwan raised an eyebrow. "I have an idea. We all know marital arts right?" The two both nodded. "Well, I was thinking we could use that to out advantage. Staffs are good weapons, and we could subsitiute our sticks for those."

"But they're not thick enough to deliver a heavy blow with," Taiwan interjected.

"True, but we can use the sharpened tips, then. All we need to do is hit a pressure point with that sharp tip!" China told the other two.

Japan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, it is true that this may be our only chance."

"We haven't used our skills in a while, okay, I'm in." Taiwan added, standing up, and grabbing her stick. Japan and China did the same. "Hopefully there will be a victory for Asia!" They stepped outside their cave, checking for signs of Russia or other tributes. A tree rustled, but it was just a bird.

"Here's the plan," China began, "One of us will have to distract them, and then run, while the other two go and snatch some supplies."

Japan cocked his head. "But who will be the one to distract?"

"I can!" Taiwan declared, "I'm a fast runner, and I can scream in one spot, then dash away. It's risky, but it could work." The three Asian nations continued walking through the calm, green forest for about an hour or so. The forest was between the mountain and Cornucopia, and China remembered fleeing desperatly through here two days ago, after nearly getting stabbed by Germany. Japan and Taiwan had followed him. China knew the games were still beggining, only seven tributes had died so far. Two of them, France and Italy, China had seen in the sky yesterday night. He wondered who their killers were. Germany or Prussia, probably, or England.

"We are getting closer," Japan said quietly. Indeed, the forest was starting to thin, and China could make out the dim golden glimmer of the large Cornucopia in the distance. After crawling up to the forest's edge, he could see Germany and Prussia sitting by a fire, eating roasted meat of some kind. At once, the three Asian's stomachs growled. They'd all practically been living off berries for the past two days, and meat sounded absoloutly delicous. This was particaurly bad for China. He simply loved food, and he couldn't bear watching two greedy Germans eat up all the good food while the rest of them were left starving. Also, the only liquid China, Japan, and Taiwan had drank were some leaky water droplets, and berry juice. They were ready for a fest.

"I am ready," Taiwan whispered quietly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" China asked her. She was still a young girl, Germany or Prussia could easily take her out without a problem at all. She nodded, her eyesbrows furrowed, and China and Japan stalked away. At once, Taiwan let out a high pitched shriek. Instantly, the two Germans looked up.

"I vill go see what it is," Germany told Prussia. He narrowed his blue eyes, and grabbed a sharp steel sword. His boots squelched against the soft ground as he made his way to the sight of the scream. Wasting no time, Japan and China rushed forth, their sticks in hand. They were about ten feet away when Prussia noticed them. He laughed and grabbed another sword. Japan had trained for things like this in the past. He ducked under Prussia's swing, kicked him in the knee, and wapped him hard with his stick. Still runing furiously, Japan snatched up a gray pack, heavy with what he hoped to be food and supplies. China ducked under Prussia as well, but he had obtained a nasty but on his left cheek. He eyes glinted when he spotted an iron frying pan nearby, and he lunged for it, grabbing it by the handle. It was in Germany and Prussia's stash, but neither of them had bothered to actually use it.

China whirled around to face Prussia, the frying pan in his hands. A loud clang of metal slamming against metal rang out as China 's frying pan collided with Prussia's sword. China grunted and quickly pulled back the pan and brought it forth again, this time smacking Prussia right in the face. His nose resembled a squashed tomato. Prussia fell to the ground, knocked out but not dead. Nearby, Japan had hoisted a pack onto his shoulders, and had scavenged a knife.

"CHINAAAAA!" The two heard a loud voice scream. Both of them froze, their hearts pounding and their eyes wide. Turning on his heel, China sped into the direction of the cry. Japan followed suit. It was too bad they couldn't finish of Prussia, but Taiwan was probably in danger. China ripped through a wall of bushes, and saw Taiwan. She was laying lfat on the dirt ground, but something was holding her there. A metal hook had grabbed her left ankle, and was holding it tight. It was a snare, used to hunt animals. The Asiann girl was clawing to get herself free, but it was no use. She turned and saw China.

A look of relief crossed Taiwan's face, and just as China bent down to get her out of the snare, something barreled into the clearing with a loud roar. The glint of a steel blade flashed through the air, and the sharp sword cut right into Taiwan's neck.

**;( Aw Taiwan ! She never did have a good chance of winning. But what's gonna happen now that China and Japan are alone with Germany ? Please review ! The Hetalians would love to hear your thoughts ! So, review ! **

**Here are the standings of the Games so far :**

**24-19th place : Wy, Seychelles, Saborga, Poland, Finland, initial first day slaughter, mostly the work of Prussia and Germany. **

**18th place : Italy, killed by England**

**17th place : France, killed by Prussia**

**16th place : Taiwan, killed by Germany**


	13. Chapter 13: New Happenings

**I do not own Hetalia or Hunger Games. **

A pool of red blood gathered around Taiwan as she shook violently. She made several horrible gurgling noises, then went limp, the blood still flowing from her open throat, and her eyes blank and unseeing. A loud canon boomed overhead. China whirled around, his senses coming back to him. He let out a cry of despair, and raised his frying pan. Several birds tweeted loudly, and flew off, and a strong wind rustled the trees. Germany turned to face China, his sword in hand, and leaped forward. The frying pan and sword collided as both tributes slammed their weapons against each other. Germany was larger and stronger than China, but China was slightly faster, ducking under Germany's blows and countering with his own.

Meanwhile, Japan raised his knife, just as yet another figure dashed into the forest. It was Prussia. His nose as still smashed up, but otherwise he looked all right. The second German glowered at Japan, whose stomach began rolling. Prussia had a sword, while all he had was a small knife. Japan himself would have loved to have a sword, as that was his best weapon. Prussia lunged forward, barely missing Japan but grazing his side. The Asian man could feel a hot and sticky substance flowing down his right side. Blood. It stained his shirt a deep crimson. Japan narrowed his gaze, and jabbed his knife forward. Prussia smirked and jumped backwards, then struck again. Japan ducked, and slashed with his knife again, this time hitting something...but it wasn't Prussia.

China yelped in pain as a hard metal blade dug into his left thigh. He had just side stepped a blow from Germany, and was getting ready to strike with his pan again when something hit him. Was it Prussia? He Glanced behind his shoulder and saw Japan pulling his knife back. "Why..aru?" China moaned, barely limping awan from another one of Germany's blows. Japan had an apologetic look on his face, but had to turn his back to avoid a blow from another person. Prussia.

China's breathing was getting heavier and heavier, and he could barely stand on his left leg. Germany was advancing forward, slashing and hacking his sword in the air, a look of malice on his face. It wasn't misplaced. China had given Germany a fair few wackings with his wok beffore, and Germany did not take to it too kindly. Another burst of pain ripped through China, this time on his chest. The wind was knocked out of him, and he collapsed against a tree, his frying pan falling rom his limp, sweaty fingers. Germany removed his boot from China's chest, having just kicked the after mentioned Asian. China flinched and closed his eyes just as Germany brought down his sword for the coup de grâce, the cold, hard metal severing China's head from his body. For a horrifyingly still moment, China's eyes, on his removed head, blinked, then went completely still. His long black ponytail lifted in the breeze, and another canon fired. China, Yao Wang, was dead...and never coming back.

Still gripping his knife tightly, Japan let out a gasp of horror. Both his allies, China and Taiwan were dead. Germany and Prussia rounded on him, like wolves ready to take down their pray. The two Germans had their swords raised, and Japan's little knife was no match for their weapons. He cautiously stepped backward, his heart pouding and his hands shaking.

"Vhat are you vaiting for? Get him!" Germany roared. At once, he and Prussia advanced to Japan. Within seconds, their swords would surely cut him to pieces. He would be dead, along with China, and Taiwan, and so many others. But a Japanese warrior never went down without a fight. To do so was dishonorable. Two swings of a sword nearly cut into Japan, but he turned around and deflected them with his pack. Quickly turning on his heel, the Asian man threw his knife with all his might. It would have a better chance of killing thrown than fighting two weapons much, much larger and more powerful than it. A yelp of pain indicated the knife had found a target. Still backng away, Japan noticed Prussia's neck had a red streak across it. He paused to press his sleeve to it, and Germany rooted around for a bandage.

Japan ran for it like he had never ran before. He was barely aware of his heavy panting, or that his whole entire body was trembling. All he knew was that he was fleeing for his life, deeper and deeper into the forest. The trees became thicker, blocking out sunlight, making the area darker. Japan looked behind him. To his relief, he couldn't hear signs of pursuers. He leaned against a tree, and looked through his pack. (Really what Japan's doing isn't different that what a certain other tribue did on their first day.) In it, he found a water skin that was, luckily, filled with water, a slingshot, and a pack of cracker. Japan drank a bit of water, careful to conserve it, and ate a cracker. He picked up a couple of stones from the ground and placed one in his slingshot, and the rest in his pocket. At least he had some sort of weapon to replace his knife.

The sky, or what little could be seen through the thick canopy of trees, was darkening, indicating night was approaching. Japan should probably have been getting some rest, but he wanted to head deeper into the forest first. The trees here were still a bit too sparse for Japan's taste. Although slower this time, Japan set off again, walking deeper into the forest. He heard an owl hoot, and some animals running across the ground, making him jump, only to realize nothing was there.

_Thwak._An arrow hit the trunk of a tree, only feet from where Japan was standing. It had a steel tip, a brown shaft and a red, blue, and white feather attactched to its base. Red, white, and blue...those were America's colors. Quickly, Japan launched a stone in the direction of the arrow. In response, another arrow came whizzing toward the Asian. Again, Japan let loose another stone. "Ahh..." A voice complained, coming closer. Japan gulped and set his last stone in his slingshot. A tall figure emereged from the shadows. Thinking of Germany, Japan launched his stone. It hit the person in the stomach, causing them to groan in pain. But it didn't sound like Germany. Japan should've known from the colors...it was America.

"Come on, bro," America sighed, gripping his bow tightly. "I wouldn't have shot if I knew it was you. I thought it could've been Britian or Germany."

"What...what do you mean?" Japan asked, his sling shot still raised, even though he had no stones.

"Dude, we're cool, right?" America replied, grinning at Japan. Normally, Japan would've been afraid America's loud, obnoxious voice would give them away, but they were in a quite secluded area. "Even before we came into the shithole, we were bros."

"I...suppose," Japan mused.

"Well, we should be allies! We could make it together!" America exclaimed. Japan thought this through. America was a decent fighter, and he had a good weapon, at least. In the Hunger Games, two tributes would live longer than one. Besides, desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

"Okay...then I guess we can be...allies."

**So Japan and America are pairing up...this should be interesting. The reivew button is getting lonely, so please leave a review ) Thanks for reading !**


	14. Chapter 14: The Playing Heats Up

**Wanted to make this one longer, but oh well. Also, thanks to all that reviewed ! This story would not be happening if it wasn't for you !**

**I do not own Hetalia or Hunger Games. **

A violent tremor shook the ground. The Earth split apart as if some giant, supernatural force had

clawed it apart with vicous fury. Rocks tumbled and cascaded to the ground, and the mountain began to tear open and flatten. Needless to say, the tributes hiding out here were not safe. Liechtenstein huffed and panted as she ran. Her outfit was drenched in sweat, and her hair was stuck to her cheeks. Her lungs were on fire, burning with the effort of getting out of the mountain alive. Her left hand clutched three knives, with an extra three stuck in her pocket. At a moment's notice, she could hurl a knife and kill someone. This was actually one of the few times Liechtenstein was happy about her small size. Boulders that were sliding down the mountain could hit somebody like Russia very easily, but little Liechtenstein avoided them all with reletive ease. The next thing she knew, her face was planted againt a tree trunk.

"Owww," she moaned, detatching her face from the tree. Quickly, she looked around. She'd made it to the bottom of the mountain, she had survived. But no one else was in sight. Not even big old Russia, who Liechtenstein had been stalking for the past couple days. She'd come so close to picking him off too, but his creepy sister Belarus had nearly spotted the small nation, and she'd had to run. Belarus always was clining to Russia, even in the arena. Poor Ukraine, who was alos staying with them, seemed left out. Briefly, Liechtenstein wondered if Ukraine had feelings for her younger brother too.

"RUN!" Belarus screeched, pulling Russia from their cave. The mountain was falling, and rocks were cascading down the mountain side like some sort of deadly waterfall. She and Russia managed to scale down the side decently, albeit with a few bruises piece. Ukraine wasn't so lucky. Upon emering from the cave, a boulder had knocked her off her feet.

Russia looked around frantically. "Ukraine! Ukraine!" He whipped his gray haired head from side to side. No sign of his older sister. If she was lucky, Ukraine's massice cleavage could soften any sort of fall, but this seemed like grim hope. Not having time to stay and look back, Russia and Belarus continued hopping down the mountain, getting more cut up and bruised as they went. "There!" Russia cried, diving behind a large tree at the base of the mountain. Heaving, Belarus folowed him. The tree seemed to shelter them from the avalanche somewhat. Russia leaned against the trunk. The Hunger Games were the worst possible thing for him. The large nation had endured horrific trauma over the past few centuries, and the last thing he needed was more of that. He was already detached from the rest of the world as it was.

A glint of something familiar caught Russia's eye. Gray hair, short at that. Russia quickly whirled around, and trudged over to the figure. They were about fifty feet away from the tree, and in bad shape. As Russia got closer, his sorst fears were comfirmed. It was Ukraine. Her panting was ragged, and her rather large chest barely swelled up. She was pale, and had a large, horrifying bloody streak across her chest. Red blood seeped out onto her clothes, staining them. Russia knelt down beside his sister. and cupped her hand in his. It was ice cold, like death.

"Brother...Brother Russia," Ukraine murmered softly, yet as loud as she could. "You came." Her eys looked into Russia's, and the siblings made up for centuries worth of discommunication in one short glance.

"Shhh..." Russia muttered soothingly, smoothing back Ukraine's hair. "I always liked you best." Making sure Belarus could not see, Russia bent down and gave his sister a gentle peck on the forhead. Her eyes swelled with joy, and then went blank and white. For at that moment, something hit Ukraine's back. A sharp steel blade was dug into her, and the handle stuck out. Russia took the knife out of his sister, and looked at the blade. It was plain and wooden, but Russia recognized it, but he couldn't remember from what. A loud, booming canon snapped Russia from his daze. This was Liechtenstein's knife. She'd tried to kill him with it on the first day of the Games, but was unsuccesful. Since then, Russia was pretty sure she'd been stalking him. He gazed into the woods bordering the mountain base, and saw a flash of blond hair. Liechtenstein was nearby. And Russia was going to make her die a slow, pianiful, and torturous death for what she did to his sister.

"Dude, that was rough!" America exclaimed, commenting on the recent earthquake. It had been felt in the woods as well, but America and Japan hadn't really been affected. Luckily. At the moment, the two were scouring the fast woods, hunting. Not for food, but for tributes. They were pretty sure they'd spotted one, but America's arrow missed, and whoever it was was too fast for them. Steadying humself, America gripped his bow and looked up into the trees. Nothing. Earlier, he thought he'd spotted somebody jumping from tree to tree, but there was no sign of them. A branch cracked. A tree rustled. Somebody was wsining between the branches, and now was the time to seize them!

"I hear something!" Japan gasped. "Above us!" America and Japan looked up, just in time to see a purple blur swining on a vine. They grabbed onto another one and swung again, away and away. They were fast...but by the looks of it they were running from something. America and Japan turned around, and looked the danger right in the eyes

**Any ideas for what that danger might be ? Do tell ! **


	15. Chapter 15: The Competition Thins

Scampering silently, Liechtenstein dashed into the woods, her small and nimble figure enabling her to move swiftly and queitly. Just seconds before, she'd thrown one of her knives at Ukraine, who had been charging down the hill. Judgin by the firing of the canon, little Liechtenstein had just made a kill. Good for her. As she momentarily stopped to catch her breath, Liechtenstein suddenly got an idea. It was easy enough to be found on the ground...but what about in the air?

The oak trees in the forest were tall, thirty feet maybe. Liechtenstein was a good enough climber, her country was filled with trees, after all. Liechtenstein caught onto the lowermost branch of the nearest tree, and hoisted herself up. Becuase of her small stature, the branches did not break. While grabbing onto branches and pulling herself upward, Liechtenstein advanced up the tree. She also had a good view from up here, and could spot other tributes on the ground if they were there. Panting heavily, Liechtenstein reached the apex of the tree. She looked all around. The forest was dead and silent, but somthing stirred on the ground. More like two somethings, actually.

A pair of muscular arms reached upwards, and a loud, boistrus voice spoke, "Yo, Japan, did you find anythign dude?"

"No, nothing." A quieter voice answered patiently. Liechtenstein tilited her head, a blond curl falling in front of her left eye. Japan was quiet and reserved, while America was loud and quite annoying. Despite being different, the two had formed an alliance. Quickly, she pulled herself into the branches as to not be seen, and pulled out a knife. If America or Japan walked beneath her, she'd stick them.

The eyes didn't stop looking at England. In the haze of sleep, England saw them as christmas lights, like the ones hung up back home. They looked so beatiful relfected in the white snow. Too bad this arean was anything but beatiful. But that was what he dreamt of. Christamas. England saw everything, the large evergreens decorated with all sort of trinkets, the bright lights, and the snow falling down gently and easily like floating flower petals. Ripping apart his own memories of happines, an violent tremor shook the ground, and England shot up faster than a bullet fired from a gun, and felt a cold, hard and sharp steel blade right against the warm and soft flesh of his throat.

"We've been searching for hours and haven't found anything!" Belarus complained loudly. Russia and her were searching the woods for Liechtenstein, wanting to get the bitch back for what she did to Ukraine, who'd been collected by a hovercrart earlier. However, they hadn't found anything yet.

Russia paused. "I think I hear something..." he muttered. In the distance, it sounded like two pairs of feet were walking, along with two mouthes talking. Well, one of the mouts could be heard clearly.

"I think that's...America," Belarus muttered, gripping her hatchet. Russia fingered his spear and nodded. Only America could be that could. But who was with them? Was it Liechtenstein? Belarus turned toward her brother. "It sounds like they're coming this way, should we wait for them?" Russia nodded, and the two siblings ducked behind a tree, listening and readying their weapons. If Liechtenstein was with America, Russia would let Belarus handle him, and he would give Liechtenstein what she deserved. Russia was sure that his heart was poudning with enough anxiety to make himslef burst, but he somehow remained calm. Maybe all those years of mentally scarring history he'd had to endure had made him able to handle pressure like this.

Liechtenstein saw two new people beneath her. One was tall and male, the other female. Belarus and Russia. But were they the footsteps she'd just heard? That couldn't be, she had just heard America's loud voice. And Japan's. Grimly, Liechtenstein thought the gamemakers were getting real exited now. Five people in one place meant blood, which they seemed to lap up like frantic dogs. Perhaps they'd even made the earthquake to drive them all together. But Liechtenstein was at an advatage, up in a tree. She hadn't been spotted by Russia or Belarus, and America and Japan wouldn't know she was there.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, America and Japan came. Choas broke out beneath Liechtenstein. Russia jumped out and jabbed his spear at Japan, who quickly ducked and brought out a knife. At the same time, Belarus swung her hatchet at America, who sidestepped and kicked her in the stomach, causing her to fall back against Liechtenstein tree. The trunk shook, and before she knew it, Liechtenstein was falling. Falling into the hands of death itself. But she still had a fight to put up. As she landed roughly on the ground, Liechtenstein hurled her first knife.

America, who'd been punching Belarus, was hit in the back of the neck. "Dude, what happend?" He muttered, feeling the back of his neck. "It feels like I've been pricked..." He trailed off as he realized what happend. Blood flowed down his neck and back, forming a bright scarlet river. With a cry of glee, Belarus pushed America away and stepped toward Liechtenstein, her hatchet swinging, and a malicous smile etched on her face. A loud canon boomed as America crumpled to the ground like the last fallen flower of the summer. Even though she was supposed to do what she'd done, Liechtenstein couldn't help feeling sad. Bile burened in her throat, and her entire figure shook. Such a pwerful nation gone. The last thing the small nation noticed was a spear flyingtoward her.

"No...no...wake up!" Belgium pleaded. On the hard, cold ground her little sister, Luxembourg lay peacefully, and gave Belgium one last smile. After the earthquake happened, the moutain they'd been staying on collapsed. Belgium had made it out, but not her sister. Monaco, another tiny nation, had died as well. Belgium was the only one left out of the trio. Tears, hot and fast, slid down her face, and onto Luxembourg, The poor little girl didn't deserve this. Holding back more sobs, Belgium smoothed Luxembourg's brown hair around her face, and brushed the dirt, grime, and blood off her. Another canon boomed, this one for Luxembourg. Another canon had fired seconds before, but Belgium didn't know who it was for. Belgium tied her little sister's hair into a braid. Luxembourg always looked so beatiful with a braid. "I'll stay with you." Belgium promised. And she would.


	16. Chapter 16: Ten Left

For the first time, England saw who was cutting his throat. When he saw that face, his heart stopped dead in its tracks, and his blood turned to ice. "S-Sealand?" he stammered. Above him, the familiar little wanker that was his younger brother loomed, clutching a knife. "Y-You're alive?"

Sealand snorted. "Yeah, no thanks to you, you big jerk."

"Hey I tried-"

"Whatever, you ran into the woods, too much of a wimp to face the others, and left me for dead."

England growled, frustrated that his little brother didn't understand how much he'd worried about him, or how hard he'd tried to sace him. With a burst of strength, England sat up and pushed Sealand off of him. The little boy spluttered and landed on the damp sand. Quickly pulling out his own knife, England scanned the area. No one but him and Sealand. "Well I'm here now, so you can stop trying, unsuccesfully, to kill me." England said, giving his younger brother an exsassperated look.

"I still almost had you, meanie..." Sealand glowered, holding his knife. As he spoke, England heard the loud rumbling of a stomach.

"Are you hungry?" The Brit asked. Sealand did look quite thin, thinner than he had at the reaping, at least. England pulled out a piece of bread, and handed it to the younger tribute. Sealand looked at England reproachfully, then quickly snarfed down the bread. It seemed he handn't been able to get much food either. Behind them, small waves crashed onto the beach, their white fingers pleasantly lapping at the shoreline. The sun shone on their backs. It could've been a pleasant outing at the beach...but it was far from that.

It was a literal fight to the death.

The spear made a whizzing noise as it cut through the air. It was cutting through tension itself. Letting out a whimper, Liechtenstein dove behind a tree. The spear, a fine one with a wooden shaft and a bright bronze shaft, scraped the side of the tree, bark and debris falling to the ground. At the same time, Liechtenstein's knife flew across the air toward Russia, hurtling and twirling like a graceful ballerina. The large man wasn't as lucky as his smaller enemy. The steel blade cut into his shoulder, tearing through his skin. Blood, hot and scarlet, flowed down his his side like a horrifyling beautiful waterfall.

Still, Liechtenstein knew that Russia wasn't dead. The knife had only wounded him, someone his size could survive a wound like that. Belarus shrieked, and ran over to her older brother, shrieking madly. The two examined the wound, but Liechtenstein didn't stick around. She ran, skirting beneath trees and sprinting deeper into the dark forest. She finally realized that she was not alone. A short, black haired man was behind her. Japan. She screamed, knowing he could kill her right then and there.

"My aporogies for startling you." He said in his quiet, calm voice. Liechtenstein frowned. Why would he say that when he could just kill her and take out another competitor? Gathering her bearings, Liechtenstein grabbed another knife, holding it tightly. He could be ready to avenge his friend America's death. Liechtenstein had killed him, after all.

"A-Aren't you going to kill me?" Liechtenstein squeaked at last.

Japan gave the younger girl a long, hard look. "I could, but I do not berieve that is the best course of action now." He said softly, with a bow of his head.

Liechtenstein raised an eyebrow. "So...you're saying..."

"We can be allies, yes."

In the Hunger Games, allainces never last long.

"Prussia must DIE!" Hungary screamed under her breath, her voice rising on the last word. "He still hasn't given back Austria's happy place!" The ninja women crouched low beneath a bush. looking at the Cornucopia. Germany and Prussia sat, polishing their weapons and preparing to hunt. For tributes or food. At the initial bloodbath, Hungary had grabbed a skillet and an axe, and killed Seychelles, who'd almost gotten the skillet first. Brushing her long, light brown hair behind her, Hungary galred at the two Germans again. She detested both of them, Germany for corrupting Italy, and leaving him unprotected, therefore causing his death, and Prusssia for stealng Austria's happy place and not giving it back.

At that moment, as the sun sank beneath the horizon, Panem's seal and national anthem flashed across the sky along with the faces of the fallen tributes. Ukraine, America, Luxembourg, and Monaco. Four deaths today. And two yesterday. Add that to the eight deaths over the course of the first two days, and that left ten nations still alive. The betting in the Capitol was warming up, no doubt. Only two more down until the top eight. Hungary really wished those two would be Germany and Prussia. Luckily for her, there was someone else in the arena who wished the same thing.

"Big Brother, are you all right?" Belarus asked, looking at Russia's wounds.

"It's okay, it will heal soon." Russia responded, putting a leaf over the wound in an attempt to stop the blood flow. "That little twat got away though, I didn't even hit her!"

Belarus narrowed her eyes. "I know, I know. But we will find her. And kill her!"

**Hope you enjoyed, and please review! Here's another recap of the standings:**

**24th-19th place: Seychelles, Wy, Sabarga, Finland, Poland. (Intitial Cornucopia bloodbath, the work of Germany, Prussia, and Hungary.)**

**18th place: Italy (Killed by England.)**

**17th place: France (Killed by Prussia.)**

**16th place: Taiwan (Killed by Germany.)**

**15th place: China (Killed by Germany.)**

**14th place: Ukraine (Killed by Liechtenstein.)**

**13th place: America (Killed by Liechtenstein.)**

**12th-11th place: Monaco and Luxembourg (Killed by Earthquake.) **


	17. Chapter 17: The Calm Before The Storm

Hungary heard a slithering sound behind her. With her ax in hand, she whipped around. Fast. She was dimly aware of something squeazing her legs, compressing her down. Then Hungary saw the snake. It certainly wasn't a normal one. It was as thick as her belly in diameter, and was a shimmering shade of bright gold. It was stunningly beatiful as well as a menacing foe. Hungary's breath became short and ragged as the snake worked its way up her body. It was stronger than a normal snake. But it wasn't a normal snake. This was one of the Capitol's inventions.

She felt something cold in her hand. It felt nice, refreshing. She stroked the cool surface. It felt like steel, with a handle of some sort. A skillet. Normally a useless cooking utensil, but nothing in the Hunger Games was ever normal. The serprent was working up to her chest now. If it got there, Hungary would be dead. She had to take action. Now. Turning to face the snake, she brought up the skillet and struck the snake over and over again. Its grip slackened slightly, but it still had the Hungarian in a tight embrace. Then, a sharp, stabbing pan erupted through Hungary's legs. Long, acute spikes lined the snake's backs, glimmering in the dark. Blood, hot and scarlet, ran down her legs. Rage coursing through her, Hungary grabbed her skillet and pried it underneath the serpent. With a large amount of effort she managed to lift the snake off her and hurl it away, throrwing it right into Germany's and Prussia's camp.

Liechtenstein almost pointed out that any alliance in the Games hadn't lasted more than a day so far, but she held her tongue. She could use someone else with her. Maybe, if she combined forces with Japan, they could kill Belarus and Russia.

Are you hungry?" Japan asked, digging in his pack. "I have some food..." He found several apples. America was rather clutzy, but he always managed to find food His huge appetite had managed to come in handy there for a change.

Liechtenstein smiled. "Thank you," She took one apple, and Japan took another. For a while, the only sound was the two nations crunching on the juicy red apples, some juice dribbling down their chins. Leichtenstein was eating rather fast. She hadn't gotten much food lately, more focused on spying and avoiding getting killed by Russia at the same time. As Liechtenstein finished the last few bites of her apple, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. A silver parachute holding a wrapped plate, it looked like. The parachute had her name written on its silver silk. The small nation anxiously ripped open the wrappings. It was a full plate of bread...and cheeses! Enough to last a few days at least.

Japan raised one black brow. "What is that?"

"It looks like...my first gift from a sponser!"

"Scheisser!" Germany roared, looking at the snake slithering into his camp. He quickly grabbed his sword at jabbed at it, but the snake was quite fast. It dodged the blow, and swung its spiked tail around, catching the large man's leg, and slashing through his pants. Prussia slashed at the serpent, almost catching it but barely missing.

"That thing is not as awsome as me!" He declared, lunging forward again. The snake sidestepped again, this time quickly lashing out and biting Prussia's arm. Pain ripped thorugh his flesh and bones, and blood flowed down the side of his arm.

"Stupid thing!" Germany yellled, bringing up his boot and then stompring down hard on the snake's head. Its entire body lurched upwards and caught Germany's leg, the sharp spikes digging into his shin, producing more blood. Letting out a last cry of rage, Germany slashed at the snakes neck, cutting the head clean off.

"Serve them right," Hungary snickered from behind her hiding spot, watching the two Germans hacking and slashing at the snakes, yet eventually overcoming it. Hungary wished that the snanke could have destroyed some of their supplies. Those two had, after all, gotten most of the things from the Cornucopia, and the golden horn itself stood only ten feet or so from their base camp. Clearly, Germany and Prussia were the most dominant tributes. But Hungary wouldn't let them win. Or that communist bastard Russia.

Leichtensteina and Japan decided to make camp where they were, gathering branches and leaves to cover up a well plaved hole in the ground they'd found. It was big enough for the two of them, and they'd be alert if any other tributes came nearby. After settling into their hole, they'd enojoyed a small portion of bread and cheese, and drank a little water, knowing that had to make supplies last. Liechtenstein took first watch, her knives in hand. She thought about home, with its pristine mountains, tall trees, green meadows, and friendly people. Not like this horrible arena, or the nation of Panem. She also thought of her older brother, Switzerland. He was the one who taught her how to use throwing knives so well. _Oh, Brother, she though wistfully, if only you were with me now..._

The hovercraft came and collected Luxembourg's dead body. Belgium was heartborken, but also glad she was still alive, at least. She had outlived America, the strongest nation of all, and was almost in the top 8. She could try to win, really. Try to win for Luxembourg, and all the other small, under represented nations. She really could. Big brutes like Germany already had enough poewer. They didn't deserve to win. Germany...not Belgium's favorite nation. He'd invaded and violated her twice, not giving a thought about being cruel to her people. However...this could be the perfect oppurtunity to get some payback, once and for all.

"Is zat dead?" Germany demanded. He clutched his sword tightly, ready for another attack.

"Yes," Prussia responded, poking the slain serpent with his foot.

Germany straightened. "Good. Now, we should probably go hunting, it's night, and we haven't caught that bastard England yet, did he go back to the forest?"

Prussia nodded. "I think so, I saw him camping out in a hole once...that should be where he is."

"Vell, maybe we can get him once and for all then..." Germany muttered, grabbing another sword as Prussia selected a spear. As the fireflies darted up and down in the forest, Hungary lay in wait. Germany and Prussia were coming right in her direction.


	18. Chapter 18: Fighting

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Hungary was in a dilema. She could either charge out and attack Germany and Prussia, thereby risking herself, or sit here and lets her biggest and most challenging prey wander by. Hungary needed a good kill. The only one she'd gotten so far was Seychelles at the opening day bloodbath, but chopping her neck with an ax. But on the other hand, how much of a chance did she stand against two well armed and quite strong tributes? No, she had to find a better time, where she could pick them off one by one and maybe even torture them a bit before diving in for the kill.

Begrudginly, she slipped away from the two Germans, concealing her movements. Maybe she could find some other prey. There wasn't anyone near the Cornucopia, as Germany and Prussia chased them all away. She didn't really want to go into the mountains, to be honest Russia gave her the creeps. It'd take too long to find somebody in the forest, but there was still the beach area. She hadn't checked that out yet. Emerging onto the Cornucopia plain, Hungary began heading down the gentle slope to the beach. As she got closer, the breeze picked up, blowing the scent of salt into her face. One hand gripped her precious skillet, the other her ax. She had a backpack with water and some bread as well. This would be a piece of cake.

Hungary knew she was in for something as soon as she hit the beach, feeling the silky sand beneath her bare toes. Not twenty yards away from her stood England and Sealand, the former eating a few slices of break while the latter polished what looked like a fine spear, with a sharp iron shaft. _Jackpot._ She thought. Sealand would be no fun, he was only a small child. However, ENgladn would probably put up a nice and entertaining fight. He had, after all, scored a twelve in training. A perfect score. A score he didn't deserve. Hungary quickly ducked behind a sand dune, formulating her strategy of attack. If she played this right, she could take out some of the Game's biggest competition right now. The two Brits hadn't seen her coming toward them before ducking behind a dune, so she was fairly sure she could sneak up behind them. First, she'd kill Sealand by splitting open his skull with an ax, England would most likely turn around and attack her. But he had only his spear, while Hungary had both her ax and skillet.

Making sure to make no noise, Hungary tip toed out from the side of the dune. How dumb these two tributes were. England probably got a 12 in training by bribing the Gamemakers. England did notice her.

"Sealand, get your knife!" He shouted, gripping his spear tightly. Hungary whipped around. Sealand had retrieved a knife from his belt, and England pointed his sharp spear at her. Hungary held up her skillet and ax in response. "Well, are you going to try and kill us or not?" The Brit asked, raising a blond and very bushy eyebrow, his green eyes shining like emeralds. Hungary charged at them for all she was worth.

"Ugh," Belarus complained, clutching at the stitch in her side. Russia and her had been running around the forest for hours, trying to track down Liechtenstein, and they hand't found a thing! "Brother...let us rest. We haven't found anything."

Russia turned to her, his eyes blazing like huge, smoldering fires. "No! I want to make that little brat pay for what she's done!" He growled bitterly. "She killed our older sister Ukraine, and now she will pay! And she took the pleasure of killing that arrogant bastard America away from me!'' Russia's voice, while still retaining his accent, was deadly and soft. Liechtenstein had better be scared out of her little wits.

"He should be arond here somewhere..." Germany muttered to himself. I swear I heard England prowling around here the other night, I just know it!" He was getting increasingly angry, his voice rising and his hands shaking.

Prussia shrugged. " I don't see anything...but..." He trailed off, looking at a spot in the forest floor with a large amount of leaves piled up on it, as if to conceal someone...or something. "Hold on, look at that." Prussia continued, pointing the spot out to Germany. "I don't think a bunch of leaves just blew there."

Germany scruntinized the pile. "Yes...it does like rather out of place now that I look at it more closely..." The two brother began moving away the leaves with their swords, keeping them right by the hole if England tried to jump out and attack them. It was possible. He'd earned a twelve in training, after all. Above them, the sky was darkening, and birds flitted into their nests as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Soon, they'd see the daily death count. But there probably wouldn't be any today; no canons were heard. The blanket of red and orange leaves cleared to find a green blanket on top.

"AH HAH!" Prussia roared. "There was somebody here!" He quickly ripped off the green blanket to reveal a hole underneath, large enough for two people to fit comfortably in. Germany and Prussia both raised their swords, ready to cut slimy England to pieces...only it wasn't England in the hole. It was Leichtenstein and Japan.

Russia and Belarus sat on a boulder near the crumbled mountain that had been their previous hide out. They were roasting meat from a rabbit they'd killed earlier today, Russia getting a satisfying feeling out of the kill by imagining the fluffy little fave as Leichtenstein. Both Russians looked up when they heard the anthem boom across the arena, followed by the daily death count. No deaths for today. Yet. Russia hoped he'd get one soon. Things had been getting somewhat dull lately, so it was likely the Gamemakers would pull of something that would lead Russia to a kill anyhow. The large man rook the meat off the fire, and teared off a chunk, stuffing it into his mouth along wide a handful of berries. He hadn't had much to eat, and was quite famished, so it didn't take long to eat up that poor rabbbit between him and Belarus. Russia had his spear at his side, and Belarus had her collection of half a dozen knives in her belt. The other six of the full dozen set were in Leichtenstein's possesion. Brat.

Hungary struck fast and hard, like a viper. She swung her ax in a wide arch, right in Sealand's direction, but the brat was faster than Hungary expected. He sidestepped and jabbed his knife at Hungary, though missing by a few inches.

"Stay away from my brother, you wanker!" England shouted angrily, coming forth with his spear. This wasn't going to be as easy as Hungary expected, but no matter. She'd take these two brits out, no problem at all. She had to quickly deflect the spear with her skillet, then use to cooking tool to wack Sealand. He sidestepped again, but Hungary still managed to hit his on the side of his head. He gace a small wince of pain and clutched the afflicted area, while England poked his spear at her again. Hungary jumped backwards, and swung her ax in a nother wide arch. England blocked the blow by wacking it aside with his spear shaft. By this time, Sealand had come around, and was running behind Hungary, his blade outstretched, ready to stab her in the back...

If there was one thing Hungary hated, it was back stabbers, literal or metaphorical. Deacting Sealand's move, Hungary brought back the skillet to shield her back, and the loud clang of metal and metal rung out as the knife wacked against it. She pushed her skillet arm back, making Sealand stubmble and fall to the sandy ground. England, the bigger threat, was coming at her from the front, his spear in hand. The two countered each other's blows with their spear and ax, at an even stalemate. Hungary gritted her teeth. She knew she could do this. She was physically stronger and faster than England and Sealand. Using her speed, the Hungarian side stepped and dashed more to the right, so that Sealand was no longer positioned at a threatening angle behind her.

Both England and Sealand were putting up a thougher fight than Hungary expected. She'd underestimated their strenth and agility, but could this be used to her favor? What if...she proposed an alliance. If she tried to do that now, however, England would most likely just kill her while she spoke. No, Hungary had to get them in a position where those two had to listen to her, no matter what. It'd be a shame if they didn't. They would be great allies to enlist against the threating pack of Germany and Prussia. England charged at her, his feet kicking up sand. Sealand raised his blade once more and ran at her too. Both of the Brits were coming at Hungary from the same direction. This was her chance.

Hungary outstreched each arm left and right, as if measuring wingspan. As England and Sealand approached, she quickly brought her arms, each clutching a weapon. inward slightly, and pinned them each to a chest, England's well toned one, and Sealand's scrawny one. Then, using a tremondous burt of energy and strength, Hungary pushed each of them down to the ground, where the fell softly, the sand cushioning them. All three combatants were breathing hard. Hungary pinned her right knee on Sealand's chest, and her left knee on England's, where more resistance was coming from. Sealand, a small boy of maybe twelve, lost it. He started hacking and sobbing, begging for his life. Pathetic. Hungary was almost starting to reconsider her alliance proposal, but then she'd also lose England...who was staring her in the face, his green eyes filled with anger and loathing.

"So listen," Hungary began, starting to relish Sealand's obbing and begging. It would be such a fun kill, but she needed this alliance. "I have a proposal for you boys: an alliance. You two would be very useful against mean Germany and Prussia, you put up such a good fight against me, after all. She had to press down hard with her knees to keep the two from escaping. "What do you say?"

"How the bloody hell can we be sure to trust you?" England demanded, glaring at Hungary. She rolled her eyes.

"Becuase if you couldn't, I'd be taking sadistic pleasure in torturing you both to death now. It's simple, join me or die. And oh, don't ever try to kill me either. You saw what I did to Prussia after he attacked Austria, who wasn't even me."

The shake of England's blond haired head was unmistakable.


	19. Chapter 19: Caught

**Greetings, everyone. I hope you all enjoy this chapter ! Also, I'm opening a poll for who you think should win this thing on my profile page, so please vote on that ! Thanks for reading, and please review !**

Germany knew what he had to do. Without thinking, he slashed his sword at the two figures in the hole. But they were fast. The blond one jumped out of the hole and grapped a knife, but Prussia grabbedd her from behind. He was about to slash her throat open when the other tribute whacked him in the face with his sword. Germany blinked. England wasn't here...It was Leichtenstein and...was that Japan? Yes, it was. The pale, defined face, and the jet black hair. Germany's former war time ally. Too bad that hadn't extended into the arena.

Prussia let out a cry of pain, and Leichtenstein threw a knife at him. It was about to hit him, but the egocentric German deflected it with his sword. Germany lunged forward again, swiping his steel blade at Leichtenstein. She yelped and began scaling a tree. It was good that she was so small then. The small nation could practically fly up those trees. However, this also presented a danger as well. From her perched position, Leichtenstein could easily pick Germany or Prussia off wtih a well aimed throwing knife. Germany knew Liechtenstein wasn't up to much, yet he couldn't risk dying, not now. After all, he was one of the strongest, fiercest Hetalia tributes. Prussia was still engaged in a tenacious swoard fight with Japan, both of their blades slamming and colliding against one another. Good. Germany could carry out what he had to do now without any problems.

The large, muscular man drew his sword back and charged at the tree. Leichtenstein was almost done climbing. Swining his sword back, Germany brought the shapr end back, and slammed it with all of his might against the brown tree trunk, near the base. It sliced through the hard wood, to about the center. The tree gave a dangerous teeter, and Leichtenstein yelped, clutching on a branch for dear life. Teeth gritted, Germany pushed the sword through the tree, his entire figure shaking and sweating with the effort. Leichtenstein was a good egg, Germany probably wouldn't have killed her, but this was the Hunger Games. It had to be done. Germany flet a sharp, stabbing prick on his left shoulder, put continued pushing. At last, in a horrifyingly beautiful arc, the tree fell. Cascaded to the hard ground with a pronounced _crack. _

Several moments passed. Germany heard Leichtenstein's screams echo throughout the sky. He touched a hand to his injured shoulder, and pulled out a knife. Great. One of Leichtenstein's untensils had hit its mark. The German ripped off a chunk off his shirt and pressed it hard against the throbbing wound, to stop the bleeding. It would take some time to heal, so Germany would just have to live with it. But he could make the perpetraitor pay. Liechtenstein was slowly getting off the ground, looking shaken up. Germany charged, his sword ready to taste the sweet allure of saw him cming, and grabbed another knife. Before she had time to throw it, Germnay slammed his knees down onto her chest, trapping her on the ground. His sword was pressed to Leichtenstein's throat, beads of blood startin to appear. The little girl lost it, screaming and sobbing hysterically. Germany was about to slash her head clean off. When something large and heavy pushed him away. Germany quickly looked up, and stared straight into the cold, harsh eyes of Russia.

Hungary gave a sweet, simpering smile. "That's too bad, we could have been great allies," She said, looking at Britian, and still keeping a firm hold over the two nations. "Well, guess I'll have to kill you both now then!" She remarked casually, finding that she was anticipating the kill with sincere pleasure. Strange...Hungary hadn't been like that before entering the arena. Not at all...the only thing she wanted to do now was return hom to Austria. Austria. The dimpled face, and curled hair, along with an unbelievable talent for the piano. Hungary was convinced she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. What if he was watching this now?

"W...wait," Sealand sniffled. Hungary, about to slice open England's neck, looked at the pathetic boy. "I...I will be allies with you!" England growled, and pushed upwards, but Hungary still managed to keep him subdued.

"Sealand, don't be a wank-"

"Shut up! For once, England, let me talk! I'd like to be allies with you so that we'd actually stand a chance against Germany and Prussia. Alone, they'll pick us off easily like we're just flies on a wall."

"I see," Hungary began, "But if your big brother here is against it..." She never finished her sentance. At that moment, the ocean in front of them erupted like a volcanoe. A tidal wave, at least twenty feet tall, towered in frnt of the three nations. Hungary sprang up, but could barely run a few feet before something strong slammed into her. She tumbled to the ground, water washing over and ripping across her body. She was drowning...drowning. Austria would be alone if Hungary drowned. That wouldn't happen. Now or ever. She pushed herselft up, the water beggining to pull back. But she wasn't going with it. She pushed forth, thoughts of Austria flashing through her mind. Dates in the park. Listening to him play beautiful songs for her on his grand piano. Beating up Prussia. Growing desperate, Hungary clawed her way up a sand dune, some sand becoming displaced.

Hungary was aware of her body growing limp. When she reached her hands out, they sloped downward. Well...that meant she was at the apex of the sand dune. That's when her vision went completely black.

"Kolkolkolkol!" Russia yelled, punchng Germany in the face. "If anyone is to be killing that little twat, it shall be me, da?" He asked, a creepy, sadistic grin on his face. Germany quickly scrambled up, holding his sword out in front of him. However, Russia's spear was jabbed against his chest. A stalemate.

Russia grinned. "If you allow me to take this-" he pointed to Liechtenstein, who was attempting to crawl away, but Russia stomped her down, preventing her escape. "Then Belarus and I leave you, understand?" Belarus, who was flaring daggers at Leichtenstein, smiled, anticipating a long, slow, and painful death for the little girl. Prussia and Japan's fight was still, raging, though it was further away, the sounds growing dimmer and weaker.

Germany's blue eyes bore into Russia. "Very well." Slowly, the two nations lifted their weapons from one another, ready to strike at a moments notice. Russia backed off, and bent down, grabbing Leichtenstein's ankle and hoisting her up, slinging her across his back like she was a mere sack of flour. Germany wanted to kill Russia, but he could get the sadistic man some other time...then give him a slow and painful death.

Russia grinned in victory. Along with Belarus, they'd stumbled upon Leichtenstein, escaped Germany, and were now going to give that girl a long, slow, and extremely painful death.

"Please!" Leichtenstein wailed, still slung across Russia's back. "Leave me alone!" She punched Russia, but he barely felt a thing. What a weakling she was.

"Oh, but what would the fun in the be?" Russia cackled, slapping her across the face. "You are going to DIE!" Belarus scowled.

"Brother, at least let me have a few cuts too," Belarus begged, holding her knife. Russia shrugged in response.

"Perhaps. We'll see how long it takes her to...crack." One of Leichtenstein's arms tried to reach her knife, but Russia restrained her. "Don't even think about it." Belarus and Russia reached their camp. Belarus quickly grabbed a rope, and handed it to Russia. His large hands slammed Leichtenstein against a tree trunk, then he tied her to it so tight that she could barely breathe. A small fire crackled nearby, set by Belarus and Russia earlier. The large nation eyed it, grinning. He put his iron spear tip into the flames, letting it glow white hot. Then, he walked over to Leichtenstein. She was screaming for all she was worth, but nobody could hear her. And nobody would help her. Not even Switzerland. Russia grew gleeful at the thought of him watching his little sister hacked to death.

His spear tip glowing red from the heat, Russia plunged the iron weapon into Leichtenstein's cheek. Her long, anguished, and drawn out scream was the most satisfying thing Russia had ever heard or felt.


	20. Chapter 20: Torture

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**Warning...this chapter does have some gore. **

Nerves crackled under Russia's skin. This felt quite good...revenge. Leichtenstein deserved what she was getting. A long, angry red burn mark glowed against her pale face. She needed some more of that. "Kolkolkol!" Russia hollered, pressing the steaming hot iron against Leichtenstein's face. Screams flew out of her mouth, and Russia felt even more exhilerated. His heart rate sped up, and his blood starting pumping. Leichtenstein's agony meant his pure pleasure. Behind him, Belarus was cackling alongside Russia, also savoring Leichtenstein's torture and slow, painful death. It was perfectly legal. They were in the Hunger Games, after all.

...

Leichtenstein screamed and screamed. The hot iron burned her skin, making pain sear through her like a strong wind. "Stop...she moaned. Please stop,'' But her small words fell deaf on Russia and Belarus's ears. They would never stop. They would never leave her alone. Together, the two of them would torture Leichtnetstein, still a child, until she was dead. Until the last weak wisp of breath sauntered out of her lips. Until her blood seeped out of her. Until her heart stopped beating.

But they wouldn't make it quick.

...

"My turn!" Belarus declared, whipping out one of her curved knives. Russia looked at her.

"Remember, only a few cuts, da?"

"Yes, yes I know, Brother," Belarus answered. She let the blade heat up in the crackling fire for a few moments, then approached Leichtenstein, who was still hollering uselessly for her pathetic life. Deciding to leave the face to Russia, Belarus pointed her knife to the her legs, which were largely exposed. With a malicous grin, Belarus slashed the knife into Leichtenstein's skin, making the roares of anguish escalate, but making Belarus whoop in delight. She could certainly see why Russia had been so eager to capture Leichtenstein. Why not pass up an oppurtunit to torture a small child to death.

A thin scarlet line appeared where Belarus had cut, dripping to the dirt ground. Good. Blood. That was what they wanted to see. Some blood compensation for all the little brat had done. Belarus brought up her knife again, and dug the heated blade into Leichtentsein's other leg, butting all the way down the shin, and making sure the white hot blade stuck. But not too deep. This death had to be carried out slowly and painfully. To get the best out of their revenge, and the sponsers would eat it up. There hadn't been a good show like this in the Games yet.

"That's enough," Russia said, selecting a thing metal string that they'd obtained from the Cornucopia on the first day. The two nations had not really found a use for it yet, but Russia thought of something. He placed the string, stretched out to its full length, over the fire, letting it heat up. Then, he approached Leichtenstein and pressed the string to her throat. The screams increased in volume once more as her eyes roared it pure terror. Russia's heart began pounding quicker, sending an elating feeling through him. Pushing back Leichtenstein's head, he tied the heated metal string around her neck, to keep the pain there. Belarus was still guffawing loudly behind her brother. The two of them hadn't had this much fun it years.

...

Leichtenstein just wanted to die. Her legs were on fire, with hot blood dripping down them. A billion needles jabbed at her face, and a thing metal string was tied around her neck, searing and choking her all at once. The pain was excruciating. _End it._She though longingly. _Just end it now._Of course, that didn't happen. The pain prevented her from passing out, but her screams were growing weaker. She was starting to loose energy. Her thoughts drifted. Big Brother Switzerland. What would he think of this? She hoped he wasn't too heartbroken, that he could still go on with his life. Switzerland...who'd clothed, fed, and cared for Leichtenstein for as long as she could remember. Now at least, she couldn't be a burden to him anymore. That was one comforting thought.

...

Prussia and Japan were equally skilled swordsmen. Prussia was heavier and stronger, but Japan was faster and more agile, carrying a sleek bladed katana. Prussia wielded a heavy European style knight's sword. His strength and power counteracted Japan's agility. But Japan was now alone. His ally, that weak little girl, was carried off by Russia and Belarus. Judging by the screams that drifted though the trees every few seconds, she was on her way out. Germany, on the other hand, had survived his encounter with Russia.

Japan stepped back...and tripped over a rock. His black eyes widened as he tumbled to the ground, his katana clattering out of his firm hand. Shining with positive glee and relief, Prussia quickly stomped his foot and Japan's chest, and picked up his fallen katana, holding a sword in each hand.

"Well, well...brought down by a pesky rock," Prussia laughed. "Such a shame. Clearly, you will never be as awsome as me, the great Prussia!" He paushed, then yelled, "I am awsome!" As several birds took flight in alarm. Too bad poor little Japan couldn't run away with them. The Asian man's black eyes fixed on Prussia with a mix of disgust and anger, not making a single sound. Prussia's sword was pressed agains Japan's chest, while the katana was poised above his angled face. Japan could be dead within a second.

"Who do you have there?" A voice called. It was Germany, with his sword in hand.

Prussia shrugged. "No one as awsome as me. Just that nerdy Asian Japan." Germany nodded slowly, his blue eyes fixed on Japan.

"Vell...he was a good soldier," He mused out loud. "And we only have the two in our alliance...with Russia and Belarus out there I know we aren't the only ones with power." Germany turned to his older brother. "Spare him, I wish him to joing our alliance."

Prussia looked confused. "W-What?"

"Don't you know Russia and Belarus are evenly matched against the two of us? If they happen to ambush us, we could be dead in seconds! So...spare him. If he accepts." Germany gazed at Japan. "You've proved to me in the past that you are a good soldier." Prussia backed away slowly, his swords still outstretched Japan began to stand up, and shook Germany's hand, his black eyes meeting the bright blue ones head on.

"It would be an honor to fight with you."

...

A parachute floated down, its silver cloth twirling in the light breeze. It had Blegium's name stitched into it. The small nation seized the package and looked inside. A small plate of jerky and crackers lay inside, along with a small bottle of water. But...there was one more thing. Belgium emptied the other two items out of the bag, an examined her last gift. It was two geet long, and had a long, cylandrical shape, with a place to put one's lips on...a blow gun. Complete with a set of a dozen darts. Finally, a long range weapon.

...

Belarus handed Russia a knife. It was a small one, but so sharp Russia was sure it could cut through iron. "Thank you," He said, heating the razor sharp blade up, A knife was alot more of a useful weapon to torture Leichtnestein with than a spear. He ran it across her face. Her eyes glared at him, but he did not back down. It was her that was going to be killed. Stating at her left ear, Russia sliced into her skin, moving down from her ear to her chin, and back up to her ear, digging the heated blade under her skin. She seemed to have run out of energy or fight to scream, and merely panted loudly as the gaping red smile appeared across her face. The more blood the better. Already, the blood from Belarus's cuts on her legs were flowing heavily to the ground, and more scarlet horror streamed down her face, mixing with salty tears. Next, Russia sawed upwards to Leichtenstein's forehead, savoring all the blood and pain.

After giving Belarus a few more painful cuts on Leichtenstein, Russia untied her bindings, she was growing panicked, but did not resist. Russia took his heated spear, sticking it into the ground, and lifted her small body above it, before forecfully pushing her down on the shaft. The screeches of pain and horror started again. Leichtenstein was impaled in the stomach, so she wouldn't die quickly, yet more blood began to flow. From her mouth, chest, and legs. Russia and Belarus grinned, delighted. They ran the blood between their fingers like it was liquid gold, valueble and precious. They'd just impaled their enemy on a spear, after all.

...

There wasn't any part of Leichtenstein that was not screaming to the heavens in pain and protest. Her stomach ached so terribly that black spots clouded her vision, and her entire body shook. Tears flowed like a river down her face, and mingled with her blood, falling onto the dirt below.

"Switzerland..." She gurgled out between a mouthful of blood, "Thank you for taking care of me...I love you!" The pain intensified, but she'd already been pushed past her limit. More blood ran out of her body. She was dimly aware of two siblings laughing at all of her pain.


	21. Chapter 21: No More Strife

"Is she dead yet?" Belarus hissed to her brother, gesturing at Leichtenstein's bloody and mutilated body. Russia squinted at her, shaking his head.

"Nyet, but she is close to death...I will finish her off now." He grabbed a long, sharp knife, and walked over to his brutlized victim. She was impaled on a spear, and her eyes fluttered open when Russia approached. Between a mouthful of blood, they said only one thing.

_Please. _

This time, it was pure pleasure of vegeance that sent Russia driving the knife into her neck. More scarlet blood seeped out of her, and her eyes went as wide as dinner plates with pain. It sent one last pang of pleasure through Russia. Her eyes went stark and blank, a million miles away. Then the cannon fired.

...

Germany let out a sigh. Finally, the tortured screams coming from a distance stopped, and a cannon fired, which meant Leichtenstein had just died. About time. That narrowed them down to only nine tributes left...and three of them were allied. Japan and Prussia sat on either side of Germany, warming their hands above the crackling fire at the center of camp, and eating a dinner of delicous pasta with marinara sauce that the sponsers had sent them. Pasta...for Germany it was almost too painful to eat. It made with think of Italy, and England stabbing him, then the anguished screech, and Germany sitting helplessly by Italy, watching the life empty out of him and knowing there was absoloutly nothing he could do.

Prussia glanced at his younger brother. "Should we go hunting tonight again?"

Germany nodded tersly. "Yes...no point in falling behind our game now. We're almost to the top eight now...almost." The other two nodded in agreement, and the national anthem began blaring across the stadium. The seal appeared, followed by Leichtenstein's face. Only one death for today. But at least it would probably be enough to keep the audience entertained for a day, given the torture and blood involved. The trio polished off their dinner, and gathered their weapons for the hunt. Japan took his kantana, and Germany and Prussia their swords. In addition, each of them had a knife, in case they lost their main weapons.

Wasting no time, the three men dissapeared into the woods, in search of tributes to main and kill.

...

"There we go," Russia said contentadly, nodding at his prey's bloody corpse. "She's dead now. Did you see those stupid looks on her face the whole time? Hilarious!"

"I know!" Belarus chuckled in agreement. "She was all like, 'please don't kill me, I'm just a bratty little baby!' And she wouldn't stop screaming her head off the whole time! Weakling!" Russia and his younger sister both let out a loud guffaw, clearly enjoying the pain and death they had just inflicted on Leichtenstein. There was no doubt in either of their minds that she had deserved every last but of it. "Hey, who should we do next? That was too fun not to do again, especially with you..." Belarus leaned into her older brother's arms. He stiffened at first, uncomfortable, but then steadily relaxed.

"What about...someone a little more challenging? Like Germany, or...Japan! He's so quite all the time it would be lots of fun to hear him scream!" He paushed momentarily as a they heard a loud buzzing noise, followed by the arrival of a hovercraft, which lifted down a rope and hoisted Leichtenstein's lifeless body out of the arena forever. Belarus and Russia allowed themselves a last look at their hand work of bloody torture, then turned back to one another.

Belarus couldn't help but admire every curve of Russia's toned face...his deep eyes, and glossy silver hair. Without thinking, she lifted her head up, and smacked her lips to his. He froze, then kissed back, causing Belarus to feel a pang of satisfaction inside of her. She was truly the only person who could melt away Russia's harsh exterior, and uncover the true beauty below. For a long time, the two Russian nations lay there, intertwined and in a position of love.

...

"What the bloody..." England muttered to himself. He could feel squishy, gritty sand beneath his hands, and his body felt somewhat sore...like he'd slept on it worng. Reaching his hand out, he felt the wooden shaft of a spear, and instantly felt better. The spear...that was quite important to him. His emerald eyes snapped open.

England was on a damp beach, in the Hunger Games, and...with a younger brother he had to protect. "Sealand!" He called. No reply. He craned his neck around the beach, no sign of Sealand but...there was one person slimped a top a sand dune. England squitned at them. Was that...Hungary. His mind whirled. Hadn't they just made some sort of alliance? Cautiously gripping his spear, England made his way over to Hungary, and gently poked her a few times with his shaft. After a couple of moans, she sat up, gingerly rubbing her head.

She looked at England. ''The beach...there was a tidal wave?"

"Yes," England nodded. "But I can't seem to find Sealand anywhere..."

...

"Did you just hear that?"

Prussia looked to Germany. "Hear what?"

Germany glanced upward. "Like...branches snapping. Someone's walking through here." Prussia and Japan both shook their heads, the former's red eyes shining in the darkness, like a cat's...

Suddenly, Prussia's eyes grew wider and wider...something had just pricked him. Bad.

...

Belgium quickly lowered her blowgun. Score. She'd just hit Prussia on the neck with a thick, hard metal dart. If all went well he would die in a couple hours. Or...she could speed up the process. Ducking behind a bush, Belgium lifted the blowgun once more and placed another dart in it. Prussia didn't move. He was examining the dart still stuck in his neck. Typically, someone like him wouldn't have the brain capacity to pull it out. She quickly blew a second dart at Prussia's neck, then darted into the trees, grinning with a smug kind of satisfaction. Those Careers had come to hunt her, but she had ended up hitting them.

...

"Owwww..." Prussia winced, feeling the iron dart stuck in his neck. As he complained, he felt another sharp, painful prick nearby. Another dart. Behind him, the albino man heard some rustling as trees. However had hit him must be fleeing into the forest now. Clearly, there were not awsome enough to actually come out and face him. Gritting his teeth in pain, he pulled out both darts, feeling a warm, sticky liquid rushing down his neck and back. Blood. When he saw his hands, they were stained completely scarlet. Prussia gulped and pressed part of his shirt to the wounds, but the blood soaked straight through in a matter of minutes.

"What is it?" Germany demanded, turning around and facing his older brother, who slowly turned around. "Vass?" Germany gasped upon seeing the carnage. "B-But who?" Prussia held up the blood stained darts, sinking to his knees. By now, the red flow was gushing harder and harder. While a lump actually started forming in his throat, Germany knew his older brother, who had given him all of his nude magazines, was a goner.

Prussia's tumbled to the ground on his back. The burning and pricking at the back of his neck growing unbearable. His eyes fluttered open to see his stone cold younger brother, Ludwig, by his side. Japan stood a ways back, his head bowed down respectively to the ground.

"You were...the best older brother that I could have ever hoped for," Germany said softly, his blue eyes boring into Prussia's red ones. "It was an honor to fight alongside you."

Prussia managed a smile back, salty tears streaking down his clammy face. "Thank you, but", he stopped rasping for air. "Remember that...I. AM. AWSOME!" He roared at the top of his lungs to the heavens, letting the entire nation of Panem know his most widely accepted philosphy.

Then Prussia's entire albino body went completely limp, and he sunk back against the soft leaves of the forest floor, sinking into a long, murky, dark and endless sleep from which he would never wake up.


	22. Chapter 22: Revenge

**Yay late night update. It's 11 :30 PM here. Meh...**

**In the Hetalian Village...**

No emotions flittered across Switzerland's face. His green eyes opened up to the pits of hell as he watched the unbelievably horrifying carnage on the flatscreen, high tech T.V in the village square, which looked much the same as it had on Reaping day, when Leichtenstein had been selected to do this whole thing. He couldn't help but wish that he was a female. He could've and would have volunteered for his little sister...

But switzerland had a penis, so he couldn't do that. However, he should've volunteered to go as one of the male tributes, that way he could have protected Leichtenstein in the arena, though she'd been off to a good start, killing two nations. Still, if he was there, she wouldn't have been captured by Belarus and Russia, then slowly tortured to death...

It was just too much. As Switzerland could feel himselft blazing from within, he turned on his heal and promptly left the village square. Several Peacekeepers scowled at him, everyone was supposed to stay and watch the Hunger Games, after all. Swizterlland's emerald eyes were so venomous that even the armed Peacekeepers turned away from him. He didn't have a particular destination in mind. He could perhaps go to the small, box like house that he'd lived in with Leichtenstein. Or to the famed pasta restuarant that was run by grouchy Romano now that his brother was dead, stabbed in the stomach, and buried six feet underground in the nearby cemetary. Where Leichtenstein would be soon.

Or Switzerland could get revenge.

More or less, he knew each Hetalian family was assigned a house. Romano, Italy, France, and Spain had all lived together, and Netherlands and Belgium and so forth. Russia would've preferred to live alone, but he didn't. He lived with Belarus and Ukraine and a couple others...maybe they were home. He passed his own home but had no desire to go in, instead continueing on his path. He passed more houses, Poland's, then Greece's further down. Yes, he was getting closer. The Nation's houses had been built in slight geographical correspondance to their previous real world locations, so Germany's house was just to the left of Poland's.

The large stone house was pure grey, and looked like it would always be cold inside no matter how furiously the sun blazed overhead. No suprises there. Switzerland's breathing became harder and harder as he trudged up the stone walkway and came to the white front door. Taking a deep breath, his hand grasped the doorknob, and he pulled so hard his entire body shook. It worked. The door yanked itself open. Switzerland walked inside. His hunch about the tempature was correct, it was surely colder here than outside or anywhere else he'd been.

Feet clonking against the stone floors, Switzerland headed to the nearby drawing room, where he heard to voices yelling out in angst. Fom what he could hear, it seemed like one person was yelling at the other. He turned to a small, oak table outside the room, looking at a rusty and bent lead pipe...one of Russia's favorite items. It seemed whoever else lived here now was keeping it safe for him. Well, if Russia could torture Switzerland's little sister to death, he was going to lose his beloved pipe. Picking up the cold weapon, he turned into the drawing room, seeing one figure bent over and the floor, while the other's hands slapped his with enough force to make red splotches appear on his skin. The boy curled up on the floor and crying was Latvia, who was still a short little fellow, with a tall, silver haired female hanging over him.

"WHY?" He sobbed to the women above him. "Is this because I overcooked the straganoff?"

It was FemRussia. She wore a grey dress that looked quite similar to Russia's trench coat, and had a beige scarf draped around her neck. Russia's scarf. Another thing he didn't deserve to have. Apart from his life. She turned upon hearing footsteps, one of her hands around Latvia's neck, the other pointed at Switzerland. "What the hell are you doing in here?" She asked, her heinous Russian accent thick on her tongue. "And with Brother's pipe as well! Put that down and depart now! Or I should just give you a slow, painful death now for intruding."

Switzlerand was shaking in rage. "Your Brother took my sister! You don't know how that feels, do you? Like you clearly aren't as good as anything in Switzerland!" His burning anger and lust to avenge Leichtenstein overcame to Swiss. Raising the pipe, he charged FemRussia, kicking her in the chest and off of Latvia, who continued to snivel weakly. FemRussia looked murderous. Drawing back her arm, she swung it across Switzerland's face, making him stagger back a few feet. FemRussia wasn't a light foe. She was strong...almost as much as her male counterpart.

But the Swiss man was no soft cookie either. He raised the pipe and charged, gritting his teeth as another painful punch hit him, in the stomach this time. The pipe smashed into FemRussia's head, making her screech in pain. She staggered up, her grey eyes boring into his green ones as she snatched a glass bowl of a nearby table and hurled it at Switzerland. "Just get out now! Or maybe I can just kil you now..." She paused, recognizing Switzerland. "Maybe I can just kill you now like how Brother and that wrench Belarus killed your pathetic little sister. Like they cut her up and impaled her on a spear!" With a delighted laugh, FemRussia at him. Red spots tinging his vision, and his heart beating so madly it was sure to explode, Switzerland charged toward Russia's female aspect. A look of amusement crossed her face for a split second.

Before the pipe sank into her skull, leaving a visible indent as it did so. Scarlet blood gushed out of her like a river, staining the floors beneath. She gave one last yelp of pain, then keeled over, dead. Switzerland grinned, allowing himself a moment of victory. He heard voices behind him.

"It's an intruder! Just get him out!" He turned. Lithuania and Estonia were in the entrance to the drawing room, large, sharp butcher knives clutched in both their shaking hands. Estonia turned toward his baltic brother.

"But he killed her! He made us free!"

"What's to say he won't target us next?"

Switzerland's voice was an icy inferno. "You're a smart one, Lithuania. What's to say I won't?" He advanced on the duo. The lead pipe clutched even tighter in his shaking fist. All these people here needed to die. All were in league with Russia. Lithuania's eyes just had enough time to widen in terror, and his hands dropped his knife as a sharp edge of the pipe dug into his chest. He gave a gurgle of pain before bending over, the life lifting out of him. Screaming in fear, Estonia turned and ran, but Switzerland caught the back of his jacket, and dragged him back as he screamed and kicked. Wresting the knife from his grasp, Switzerland took it and slid the sharp steel blade over Estonia's neck, grinning at the sight of the gaping red line of death that smiled up at him.

Latvia ran for the window, his entire small figure shaking and fighting for his life to get it open. Switzerland turned around, and with one smooth twitch of his arm, threw the knife at tiny Latvia, admiring the glinting six inch steel blade as passed in the middle of the red sofas and arm chairs. The blade lodged itself in Latvia's spine. He gave a small grimace then cascaded to the hard stone floor, never to rise again.

Justice was the only thought on Switzerland's mind.

...

**Back in the arena...**

Dread like liquid nitrogen pupmped through England's veins. A canon had just fired. Sealand had just gone missing. It added up too well this time. Sealand, England's innocent 12 year old brother he'd vowed to protect, had slipped so foolishly out of his grasp, and he'd died.

Green eyes wide as dinner plates, England turned to Hungary. "Do...you think Sealand...?"

She shrugged uncertainly. "Can't say now...we'll have to wait until tonight."

"And it's only morning now, oh what bloody stupid mistake did I make?" England groaned.

Hungary looked at her distressed ally. "If you don't mind me asking...what drove you to care so much for Sealand?"

"Well..." England was silent for a moment. "I suppose it's that we've never been on good terms, but he's only twelve years old, not even a real nation. But he could still get picked to compete in this thing. And I thought that if Panem could make a small child fight to the death, then I could at least try to protect him."

Hungary took this in. "You actually did the right thing, I think. I would have done the exact same for Austria." She allowed herself a small chuckle. "He's such a pansy...he could never make it out here for a minute, not the way you did."

Engladn turned to look at Hungary. Their luminous emerald eyes met for a second in tensio, but then quickly melted away as the leaned toward each other and touched lips.

**New Romance ? Review **


	23. Chapter 23: The Top Eight

**Here we go everyone ! We've reached the top Eight Tributes ! Now stuff can start to get exciting ! **

Germany gulped as his brother went still, followed by a deafening canon shot. Prussia had been hit by some sort of sharp projectile, but by whom? Japan had scouted the entire area afterward, but found no one. Whoever had killed Prussia was obviously a fast runner. Was it England? After killing Italy, something Germany just couldn't get over, he'd been keeping a stragnely low profile. It didn't seem like many other people in the arena could just kill so easily and evade capture.

Belarus or Russia? That seemed a bit less likely, and as far as Germany knew they didn't have any long range weapons, and they preferred to slowly torture their prey to death, like Leichtenstein. They'd taken a couple hours and lots of blood curdling screeches to finish her off. That left Sealand and Hungary, and Germany hadn't been keeping tabs on them. Regardless of who it was, Germany was going to have them dead when he won. Because Germany was going to win...he'd promised Italy that.

...

"_Germany! Germany!" The man's blood went ice cold. He'd heard that scream so many times that it was only second nature to respond to it. His sword in hand, Germany sprinted out of the forest and back into the Cornucopia field, ignoring Prussia's cries of protest that he was giving up on chasing France. The soft, wet green grass squished underneath his boots, and the dark night air slammed against his skin, but he would reach Veneziano. _

_The small nation lay on the grass. He looked fine, his smooth skin blemish free, and his chesnut hair flat against his head, with one stubborn curl sticking up. But his his stomach told a whole different story. Beneath the ripped blue fabric, red, oval shaped stains were embedded in his skin, a horrific river of bright scarlet seeping from them, spreading to his chest and down to his trembling legs. Moreover, crimson blood pooled from his mouth, standing out against his white teeth. _

_"No...NO NO NO!" Germany roared in anger and sadness to the merciless black heavens above. The brightly twinkling stars kept shining, indifferent to Germany's despair. A lump forming in his throat, Germany turned to the convulsing Italian. He couldn't just let Italy ferment on the ground. Out of the corner of his blue eyes, the German man saw a small peak of blood hair dissapearing down the hill leading to another section of the arena. Bending down, Germany took Italy's small hand, trying to ignore how cold it felt against his own. _

_"Shhh, shhh," Germany whispered softly, stroking Italy's hand. Upon seeing the Italian, Germany melted from harsh, cold iron to a soft, gooey copper in a splatted puddle. "It vill be okay." _

_"G-Germany. It...it hurts, ve! Make it...make it stop Germany!" Italy sobbed, crystal tears cascading down his cheeks in a dream like motion. If only this whole ordeal was a dream, too. The petite man gulped, more blood oozing out of him. Germany placed his hand behind Italy's head, and awkwardly rubbed it in a soothing motion. A protective feeling overcoming him, the man then lifted up the anguished Italian and layed him across his lap. As he settled in closer to Germany, Italy relaxed somewhat, his shoulders drooping. "Germany...the stars are so pretty tonight, ve." _

_The larger nation gulped. "Y-yes, Italy. They're for you. Especially for you and nobody else." He held his ally's hand tighter, as if determined to keep the life in it. Say what one will about Italy, but he had been a loyal friend to Germany, despite some frequent vices. He'd made Germany delicous dinners of pasta and pizza, and decorated his austere house with his ornate drawings, even though Germany'd taken them down. He felt especially bad about that now. _

_"Ve, Germany. You know what? I just wishe I'd eaten more pasta now." Italy exclaimed, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier as the steady lifting and falling in his chest slowed down. _

_"Italy..." Germany's voice cracked, and he flet thick, hot, tears brimming in his eyes. "You'll all the pasta you want now." _

_The Itaian's warm brown eyes that looked like melted chocolate widened. "You mean it? That sounds so cool! And pizza too!" Germany nodded, still stroking Italy's hand and hand, a horrible run of chills zooming down his spine as Veneziano's cooled down, his molten chocolate eyes starting to harden into the solid sweet. Even in death, Italy would still be delightfully sweet and youthful. _

_The large German nation fought back tears once more. "Italy, I just want you to know that I pushed you in training, made you work way too hard. And I'm sorry. You...you were always a worthy person. Always an honor to be...friends with. Friends." Saying the latter words, Germany's stone heart softened and lifted slightly. As he stared at the hardening chocolate, he was absoloutly certain that Italy and him had been friends. _

_"Germany...thank you!" Italy exclaimed in delight, more tears tumbling out of his eyes. "You were the best friend I've ever had. I know it now! Even better than Japan." The small nation's voice softened considerably, his eyelids drooping further down, and his breathing coming to almost a complete halt. As a warm and fuzzy feeling Germany had never felt before coursed through him, he bent down, clutching Italy's hand and pulling the golden band he always wore around his left hand middle finger as a symbol of of being single, not married, off his finger and slipping it onto Italy's left hand middle finger, the tears, so long hidden, making an appearance now. _

_"Feliciano Vargas, vill you marry me?" He announced in a clear, strong, voice. Italy's eyes fluttered open, the chocolate almost solid. _

_"Ve...yes of course." A hot feeling of delight filled Germany, something he'd never known before, Italy's pale blue lips moved in one last word. "Paaasssstaaa...Germany...please win, for ..." And all went silent, the serenade of crickets filling the dark night once more. Italy went completely limp, the golden band shining like a beacon of love on his finer, and a canon fired. _

_"Yes," Germany said, "Yes! Italy I vill win for you!" _

_..._

The low hum of an approaching hovercraft tore Germany out of his thoughts. In silent grief, he watched as a black rope hoisted Prussia's albino body into the air for one last time. Germany uttered a silent farewell as the doors closed, and Prussia disspared from the world forever. Japan raised his head. The scarlet sun was peeking across the pink horizen, and birds started tweeting amongst the tree branches. Germany and his allies had hunted throughout the duration of the night, but hadn't found a single thing. Instead, one of _them_ ended up dying...this wasn't good. Not only was the competition still a firm threat to both Germany's and Japan's lives, but the Capitol sponsers would clearly lose interest and favor in them now.

"Shall we return to camp?" Japan suggested. "We have been up all night."

Germany sighed. "Ja, that should be the best thing to do...we'll find more prey tonight." The two silently walked back to the Cornucopia, exhausted and feeling glum. Japan tucked himself under a blanket at once as Germany took first walk. He twisted his sharp sword in his hand, thinking of the promise he'd made to Italy. His golden ring was buried with the Italian man, their deathbed marriage still firmly in place.

"Germany san?" It was Japan. "I can take over now."

"Alright." Germany yawned, crawling under the golden Cornucopia horn where he would get some peace and quiet. As the muscular nation began to nod off, his closing eyes caught another figure in the golden horn...one that was not Japan.

...

Belarus and Russia bounded through the forest in the early morning light, looking for more victims to torture. They knew they'd come to the top eight, meaning the betting in the Capitol was now warmer than ever. Each of the remaining Hetalian tributes would have some sort of special feature done on them.

"I just hope the person who died in the night was someone insignifigant to us," Belarus said. "After all, it won't be any fun for us if all the good tributes are taken."

"Da," Russia agreed, holding his spear over his shoulder. "Hey, why don't we head to that old mountain area? I feel like we've combed the woods too much to find anything at this point." Belarus consented, but she didn't know if anyone was even left there. China and Taiwan had stayed there earlier, but they'd both died, and Japan was gone from there, either dead or hiding in some other area.

The now crumbling and rocky hill rose slightly above the trees below. It seemed dead, just like the many tributes that had died here due to a rather powerful earthquake. "It doesn't look like there's anyone here, Brother," Belarus sighed, feeling a sharp, icy breeze press on her skin. She frowned. That was odd...the climate in the arena was usually quite temperate, this cold was out of place. Beside her, Russia showed no qualms about the dramatic drop in temperature, in fact he seemed more comfortable than not with it. Well, he may have lived in a harsh winter wonderland for all his life, but Belarus's home had a normal climate, thank you very much. Her narrowed eyes scanned the forelorn hill. Right at the moment, she noticed the white storm, a swirling tornado at least fifty feet tall, radiating frigid air and pure ice. Russia just smiled right at it.

...

Hungary was on her side, snoozing gently while England sat on his haunches, whipping his head from side to side, deep in thought, and more dread passing through his veins at every second. He was almost certain that Sealand was dead. There just simply wasn't another logical explanation. He'd been with them just moments before, then dissapeared. Likely the ravaging tidal wave had taken him out, it wouldn't take much force to shatter his small body, after all.

The only thing on England's mind was regret. A stupid wall of water had ripped apart his vow to get Sealand out of this horrible place.

To let Sealand take over the British Commonwealth.

Yes, England had not realized that was what he wanted until now. There wasn't any other good candidates_, at all._Not America...most surely not France, that thought made his stomach twist inside out. Besides, Sealand had plenty of British blood in him, and he was created from old English territory to boot.

Only, the innocent twelve year old boy might be dead, bled white, and transported back to the Hetalian village...England actually teared up at that thought.

...

**Special Honors to the Top Eight Hetalian Tributes.**

**Germany**

**England**

**Hungary **

**Japan**

**Russia **

**Belarus**

**Belgium**

**Aaand Sealand...but where is he? **

**Also, in honorable memory of those that died. **

**Wy, Seychelles, Sabarga, Poland, Finland,**

**Italy, France, Taiwan, China, Monaco, Luxembourg,**

**Leichtenstein, and Prussia. **


	24. Chapter 24: Tensions Rise

**Thank you for the kind reviews last chapter ! I'm honored you found the Germany/Italy scene so beatiful ! It really made my day to see those in my inbox )**

**...**

Every muscle in Sealand's youthful body was on fire, and his heart was pouding literally out of his chest. He young to the top interior of the Cornucopia, holding onto the ridged golden medal. He'd been washed up to here after the tidal wave crashed against the shore, and when he saw that Prussia and Germany were gone, he snuck onto the Cornucopia to snatch some supplies, which had worked so far, at least. The miniscule nation had obtained a full water skin, a small bow with half a dozen arrows, which'd be extraordinarily useful, and a packet of fish and chips, for Britian. But Sealand was stuck. Stuck in this metal horn with possibly the most brutish killer mere feet underneath him.

At least Germany had fallen asleep, exhausted from the previous night's ordeals. That was a bit of relief. If he could just keep absoloute still, he may just be able to get out of here alive. It was all or nothing. Not daring even to breathe, Sealand lifted himself down from the top of the horn, coming to a stand just inches away from the sleeping Germany now. Sealand fingered his bow, considering his option, then turned toward the exit of the structure. He couldn't kill Germany, not without attracting the attention of whoever was standing guard outside and surely being killed by them. His feet barely touching the ground, Sealand snuck out of the Cornucopia, an arrow notched in his bow. It'd be easier to take out the person on the outside.

As he emerged out into the open air, Japan's back was turned to him, keeping an eye on the woods, for good reason. If Russia and Belarus were to come from anywhere, the woods would be the most likely bet, as that was where their base was. England and Hungary were settled on the beach, Germany and Japan dominated the Cornucopia, but it was anyone's guess where Belgium was. The elusive nation never allowed herself to be seen.

Upon hearing a very small noise, Japan turned, his sharp iron sword that could cut Sealand in half gripped firmly in his hand. He gave a start of suprise, then dashed toward the nation, raising his sword for a painful yet fatal blow. Terror pulsed through Sealand's veins so powerfully he thought the sheer force of it could kill him there and then. With shaking hands and an out of control chest, Sealand raised his bow, prepared to shoot. He had learned how to in the training center, luckily. The arrow went a bit lop sided, and didn't hit Japan's heart as intended, but instead pierced his stomach. The Asian man let out a grunt of pain, but stopped his kill swing nonetheless.

The boy ran for it, glad Japan wasn't calling on Germany yet. He could escape this. His feet sprinted across the grass, and after a few mintutes, the land began to slope downward, accompanied by the scent of salty air along with a dim sound of crashing and swirling waves. He touched the wet sand, now starting to breathe easier. The sand dunes dotting the beach were more like squashed mounds now than actual hills, and the sand was displaced and squished under his feet. A horrible thought filled Sealand's mind. _Could the wave have killed the others? They weren't as fast as me, after all. _

The tiny nation's eyes scanned the whole entire beach, about a third of a mile wide. There wasn't anything until..

"Sealand you bloody wanker!" An angry voice snarled behind him. The aftermentioned boy whipped around, coming face to face with his older brother, whose green eyes were filled with a mixture of worry and satisfaction. At once, England's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close into the larger nation's well toned chest. Sealand stood there, stunned. Usually, England wasn't this worried at all about him, and regarded the boy as an annoying pest. Now that they were in the arena, that'd changed.

What had caused England's emotion flip?

...

Panicking, Belarus turned around and ran for it, zig zagging through the trees to avoid the icy inferno of doom coming their way. Russia scoffed at her. What was so bad about cool? Of course, as a Russian, cold was practically his lord and savior. While the icy tornado ripped down the craggy hill, Russia spotted a blond haired figure running in the opposite way, behind the tornado. They made it fairly far before being pulled back by the icy blast, wincing in pain as their skin was bombarded by icy needles. The Russian smiled in pleasure, holding his spear out in front of him. Whoever this was, they couldn't handle the cold. Or perhaps Russia himself.

Belgium growled in pain as she tumbled rather ungracefully down what used to be a mountain. However, she managed to keep a hold on her blowgun, complete with eight darts yet. Russia could see who the figure was now. Too bad it wasn't blond England, this prey wouldn't be nearly as fun. Still, too bad Belarus would miss it. Holding out his arms, the tall man embraced the blast of icy knives cutting through him, whooping in delight. Before a warm body hit him right in the chest. Together, the two nations cascaded to the cold ground, rolling across the forest floor as they were pushed all the while by the frigid winds. In the scuffle, Belgium smacked Russia across the face with her blowgun, while Russia's blunt spear end smashed against her ribs.

The Russian nation felt a pang of dull pain in the back of his head as it slammed against a tree trunk, blasted there by the hurricane force winds. Belgium was several feet away from him, woozily blundering around as she cleared her head. For a moment, the two tributes locked eyes, blowgun and spear raised. The big boned male felt a sudden indebtment to his younger sister. If only she was here, this fight would be in the bag. Two against one always worked in their favor. The tornado moved on, leaving a ringing, tension stuffed silence behind. Without hesitation, Belgium and Russia fired at one another.

...

Japan gritted his teeth as the sharp, cold grate of iron dug into his stomach. Upon looking into tiny Sealand's terror filled eyes, he'd almost chopped the small brat apart with his sword, but not before earning an arrow shot to himself, which also meant that Sealand had stolen some of their supplies. Clearly just one more sign of Germany and Japan's fallibility. From now on, Japan vowed to keep better watch over the area. He ducked into the Cornucopia and picked up a box of bandages, wrapping seceral of them across his bleeding stomach wound. Japan wasn't normally a sadistic killer, but he could very well be at times. During the rape of Nanking in World War Two, he had horribly brutaized millions of China's people and even China himself, bringing the nation who had raised him to its very knees. He remembered burying Chinese citizens alive, bayonetting babies, and infecting innocent civilians with terrible diseases. Not even here, in the Hunger Games, has Japan ever reached that level of sadism. But perhaps...another intruder would call for it. For the sake of keeping good relations with Germany-san.

Whose heart was millions of miles away, with Italy.

...

"Bloody hell! Where've you been?" England demanded, gripping his little brother's shoulders.

"That stupid wave washed me all the way up there." Sealand pointed to the sloping hill. "And I saw Germany's base was empty. I took my oppurtunity and stole some supplies," He explained, holding up his bow, water, and food. "These are for you."

England looked down at the fish and chips with longing, then stuffed a few pieces of deep fried fish and potatoes into his mouth. "Thanks."

"Then who is the person who died early this morning?" Hungary worried aloud. "If we knew it wasn't Sealand..."

The twelve year old frowned. "I think Prussia...the only person staying with Germany was Japan."

Hungary nodded, as if in approval. "Interesting...although I would've liked the chance to kill the bastard myself. So that leaves us three, Germany and Japan, Russia and Belarus, and..."

"Belgium, I think." England concluded. "Though no one's been giving her much attention."

...

Russia felt a painful prick on the back of his neck, reminding him of the time when Leichtenstein had hurled a knife at him. That little git was dead, and this one should be, too. He lunged forward, jabbing his iron spear tip at Belgium, who side stepped and fired another dart at him. This one pierced his left arm, causing it to start to bleed. Stupid tributes and their pricking weapons...

As he tried to hit Belgium again, she turned and sprinted away, easily out speeding Russia, who was large but sluggish and not very agile. She looked behind her, seeing she'd lost Russia. He either thought Belgium wasn't worth it or was just too slow. Either way, his loss. The small nation was starting to realize just how much stealth and a long range weapong helped in these games. Using those tools, she had easily killed Mr. Awsome Prussia, who was not quite as awsome looking in death. Clearly, Russia might not be that difficult of a target either.

...

"What? You passed her up?" Belarus demanded. Russia and her were sitting at their campsite in the forest. The younger nation had a couple broozes and bandages from being caught on the fringes of the tornado, but was otherwise intact.

"Da...but she was so fast." Russia replied

Belarus growled. "The last thing we need on our hands is another Leichtenstein, we just took care of the first one-" The two paused in their conversation as the National seal and anthem flashed across the darkening night sky, followed by Prussia's head shot.

"Hm, looks like we've reached the top eight," Russia noted in interest. "I think they're doing special features on all of us now."

"Yeah, then they'd better include our fun little killings." Belarus grinned, twisting her knives in her hand as she popped a handful of nuts into her mouth.

Russia turned back toward her. "But anyway, that blond girl hasn't done anything to us yet, maybe she was just defending herself. But if you feel like she's a threat, then you can have her."

"Well thanks, Brother," Belarus said, "Oh, and I also call Japan, it'd fun to see him scream-"

"Then I call Germany," Russia interjected. "So three for us each?"

"That seems fair. Okay I get that blond girl, Japan, and that she male Hungary! It would be hilarious to kill her painfully right as her little boyfriend Austria watches on screen!" Belarus chortled at the though.

Russia tilted his head. "So that leaves me with Germany, England, and his little brother. The last one should be fun...it'd be funny to kill him right in front of England!"

What Russia didn't realize was that this would leave them the only two left. However...Belarus had a plan to take care of that.

**What'd you guys think ? Review !**


	25. Chapter 25: Lizards From Hell

**Hello Everyone ! Okay, so I'm introducing something new...the top reviewer of this story gets a story from me about anything Hunger Games or Hetalia related that they want, dedicated to them. The contest will stop when I finish my last chapter, which will be in a while yet, so...oh, and they can't be pointless reviews, but you know what I mean. Happy Reading , and thanks to all that reviewed thus far ! **

"What was that?" Germany's blond head ripped upward, taking in the dark starry night sky, his ear straining for what he'd heard in the distance. It sounded like a...yowl or loud hiss of some sort. It started out soft and barely audible, but seemed to be getting progressively louder. Did that mean...whatever was coming was approaching them?

Eyes wide, Germany and Japan both drew their steel swords, backing up against the Cornucopia. The snarling hisses were coming closer yet. But the axis powers remained stuck. Should they run for it? Did they like their odds of staying her and fighting? Before any desision could be made, the trees on the edges of the forest rustled, their green leaves shaking.

The Capitol mutts were clearly visible in the black air. Their hideous, scaly skin was a bright, poisonous green, and they had glowing red eyes that shone like bright beams. Elongated claws emerged from the mutt's short, stubby arms. Each creature was about four to five feet tall, and looked slightly humanoid. They stood up straight, and had two slimy legs and arms, and sharp white fangs sticking out of their droooling mouths. Germany and Japan quickly scaled the Cornucopia, figuring they'd face a better chance facing these things from above. Each of their hearts were pouding wildy, as if another tribute were nearby, not ravanging wild reptiles. But these could be just as dangerous. In the past, it wasn't uncommon for at least a few tributes to die in each Games because of Capitol related engineerings.

Letting out a horribly loud hiss that sent shiver's down the human's spines, the lizards began to advance on the Cornucopia, slashing their sharp claws about and eyeing the inside of the horn...before diving into it all at once. From directly beneath them, Germany and Japan could hear loud screeches, the sound of blankets, food, clothing, and shelter being ripped and slashed apart, as the hisses sounded oddly like laughter.

"Scheisser!" Germany cursed, shivering with rage and fear. "They wanted us to defend the supplies, we've just made it easy for them to take us out now!" His sword shook in his hand, and his breath rose in steamy puffs above him. The carnage and slaughter of precious supplies went on and on, Germany and Japan hopeless to stop it. There were at least a dozen lizards, and only two of them. Also, those claws and fangs could probably do some pretty fierce damage in such close quarters, especially when given the prospect of soft, fresh flesh.

The air grew colder and colder, the decimation of all suplies finally coming to a halt, the tears and screams of inanimate objects stopping. Torn bits of fabrics and other items were strewn across the ground outside the horn, and the mutts clamered out of it, now hissing at Germany and Japan. As the mutts filed back outside, Japan counted a dozen of them in all. One of the largest mutts attempted to scale the Cornucopia, digging its claws into the cold and pulling itself up. It didn't get far, however, before Germany's sword pushed it down rather harshly to the ground. It grunted in displeasure as its forked tongue licked around its lips.

A smaller mutt jumped up onto the horn, then lifted itself upward, almost reaching the top of it before Japan's kantana sliced through its neck, followed by a horrible, high pitched, and hair raising death screech. The others grew restless, now converging as one on the golden horn. Japan and Germany were surrounded on all sides by reptiles who tried to claw their ways up the horn, some getting far enough to clamber up, but then get beheaded by an angry sword slash. Still, Germany and Japan had to keep their balance, for if they fell, the mutts would surely rip them limb by limb.

...

England sighed as the cold blue ocean water washed over his now naked body. The salt stung the several open cuts and wounds he'd accumulated over the course of the Games, but he took it as a good sign-at least his body was getting cleansed now. Further up on the beach, Hungary was napping on a sand dune, a safe distance from the water, in the morning light as Sealand practiced shooting his newly obtained arrows. So far, he'd managed to get them to fly around fifteen feet in a straight line, which was good enough to take out an enemy at a respectable distance, at least.

The Brit ducked his blond head underwater, letting the waves of cool water and salt wash away all the dirt, grease, and grime in his hair, and he spread his legs apart, feeling a delightful senesation of water rushing by his vital regions and crotch. It was a good thing he had a base by the salt water, but wondered what lay beyond it. It seemed like an ocean, but what could be on the other side? Did it just go on forever? Most likely the water just stopped at a certain point, blocked by the force field that marked the boundry of the arena. Pondering this, the naked Brit clambered out of the water, and quickly re dressed himself, but that didn't stop Sealand.

The wanker's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and gazing straight at England. "What?"

Sealand giggled. "Your...your vital regions are just so...large, and hairy!"

"Oh, shut up you!" England yelled back, angered at the sight of Sealand's guffaws. "My nether regions weren't nearly as big as Germany's, after all!" They may have been in the arena, but some things between brothers just don't change.

"I can assure both you gentleman," Hungary began, waking up from her nap and flipping her hair behind her, "That nobody's vital regions are as big as Austria's. And I speak from personal experince." Sealand broke down laughing once more.

"That's difficult to imagine. Austria, the pansy, with large vital-"

England jumped. "What was that" A loud hissing sound eminated from above them. He quickly grabbed his spear as Sealand readied an arrow and Hungary lifted her iron skillet. At once, a blond figure darted past them, sprinting as fast as they could. But not from a fellow tribute. England turned around to see a horde of scaly green reptilians barreling straight towards them.

...

The two Axis nations were slumped atop the Cornucopia, their bones exhausted to the marrow. At the base of the golden horn, a dozen humanoid lizards lay dead, slashed apart by cold iron swords, with blood dripping out of them from all sides. It had taken a hurculean effort, but Germany and Japan had, together, managed to slaughter all of the dozen vicous lizards at their heels. Granted, it had reduced them to tired hunks of meat and cost them all their supplies, but it had been done. For now.

Germany sat up, feeling woozy. The warm, buttery sun shone down upon them, giving a slight comforting affect. "Hey, Japan," he muttered. "I have an idea." The Asian nation turned, raising an eyebrow.

"We can use those lizard's meat for food. They're most likely edible, at least, and we've got no other food as it is." Germany went on, holding his sword.

"Are you sure, Germany-san?" Japan asked. But even as he spoke, their stomachs rumbled in hungry unison.

"Ja, now come on." Germany slid off the horn, and approached the closest lizard. Back home, he'd worked in butcheries a couple times, like after World War One, so he had a bit of experince. He poked his sharp sword blade under the scaly skin, and slid it about until all the hide was loosened, and it peeled off with ease. Japan looked somewhat uneasy, but went off to go fetch water from the trees, a technique they'd seen used in previous games, to accompany their meal. As Germany did the most repulsive parts of the work, he deducted all the lizard's blood was red, so it must be like regular animal blood, so therefore negating the chance of it being nastily poisoned by the Capitol.

As the last of the lizard's vital regions were chopped off, Germany started a fire with rocks and branches, grateful to having paid close attention to all the stations in the Training Center. Careers in the typical Hunger Games would probably all be dead by now, but not the Nation Careers. As the flames began to heat up, Germany put pieces of meat over them, skewered on more sticks. The meat looked chewy and grainy, but at least good enough to eat. Japan returned with filled water skins, and they ate. The lizard meat was indeed soft and bumpy, but it was far better than having no food at all. To add to the meal, Japan had found several kinds of berries, which he assured Germany weren't poisonous.

"Well, that wasn't half bad." Germany remarked, wiping off his hands. Japan doushed the flames, muttering in agreement. The lizards may have destroyed their supplies, but they had provided themselves as a source of food. In order for the cracasses to remain fresh, the two stacked the reptiles inside the Cornucopia, which was now bone empty, picked spotlessly clean, and rapped up the leftover meat. "Ok, what to do now?"

As it turned out, hunting would be too risky, and they didn't have much to keep occupied, so Germany and Japan rested, mostly taking cat naps. In his heart, Germany couldn't stop wishing that Italy was here. The samll brunette may have been bumbling and annoying, but he knew how to keep things lively. Even in this arena, Italy would have found some way to make a delicous pasta. Little did Germany know that Japan thought the same way, too.

...

Sealand screamed in terror as he saw the mutts race toward the trio. Not wasting a moment, England pushed his young brother up a sand dune as Hungary followed suit, England at her heels. It was clear that the mutts were chasing the blond girl from earlier, but would they stop upon seeing three more voracious Hetalians to take out. Yes. As one, the scaly lizards turned their ugly heads toward England, Hungary, and Sealand...and attacked.

It didn't take long for the first one to scale the dune. It's foot long claws easily allowed it to tear up the small hill, hissing like mad the whole time. One of Sealand's arrows landed in its skull, however, and it went down. But more came up. There were more than a dozen, perhaps sixteen of the beasts or so. The three allies were forced back against one another, in a triangle like formation as they fought off the reptiles best they could. England's spear pierced their hearts as Hungary's skillet dented their skulls, and Sealand's arrow took out one here and there. Occasionally, England felt a sharp pain on him as a claw or fang found it's mark, but it stopped after he had a say with his spear. Even as sweat poured down his sides and blood seeped out of him, England fought on.

The Brit thought he had defeated all there were, and was heaving from cramps when he saw a scuffle to his direct left. Tiny Sealand was screaming bloody murder. England was about to reprimend him when he saw the most huanting and disturbing sight of his life as a nation.

The largest mutt's razor sharp claws, a foot long, were buried all the way to the scaly finger on either side of Sealand's stomach.


	26. Chapter 26: Pungent Death

**My offer for a free story to top reviewer, meaning the one who submits the highest number of thoughtful reviews, still stands :) **

England's entire body went numb, and he felt as if an iron knife had just been roughly grated through his skin. There, on the sandy ground, Sealand lay with the vile lizard's claws dug into both his ribcages. The young boy's eyes were wide with fear and pain, yet at the same time held all the hope in the world. Anger flooding through his veins, England let out an enraged bellow, and dug his spear into the lizard's scaly flesh, relishing its high pitched death screech. The hideous thing went down, dead like it should be. A few feet to his right, Hungary was fighting the last two lizards with her ax and skillet.

The Brit was aware of his chest rising and falling rapidly in panicked heaves. He bent down next to Sealand, seeing the large, gaping wounds on either side of his stomach. They were deep...and big. Each wound was about the size of England's hand, and the blood stained the whole ground around the two brothers a horrible scarlet. Sealand's skin was pailing, and his lips were steadily turning blue.

"E-England!" Sealand gasped, looking up into his older brother's green eyes.

"I"m here." He soothed, smoothing Sealand's hair behind his face, and stroking his cooling forehead. England could feel an aching lump form in his throat, and tears burning in his emerald eyes. "Sealand...I just wanted you to know...I opressed, opressed you all those times, but I just wanted you to know that..." The tears were coming full on now, running down his cheeks and flowing down to Sealand's. "That I was just trying to protect you. You were...a great little brother," His voice cracked, and the sobs increased in volume. Sealand's darkening but hopeful eyes stared up at his older brother.

"I've been...waiting for you to say something like that...sometimes, you really could be a git," Sealand rasped, blood gurgling at the back of his throat. England instantly cringed at the horrible, depressing sound. Without thinking, he pulled his twelve year old brother close to him, pressing his warm, lively chest against Sealand's smaller, slowly moving one.

Sealand's older brother gulped. "You're right, I could be a real asshole to you at times, but I still...loved you like my little brother. You know that right?" Sealand gave a nod of his head, not having the energy to do anything more. The youthful boy rested his head against his brother's chest, his eyes fluttering closed. Above them, the afternoon sun shone brightly like a horribly misplaced omen. How could the golden sun be shining so merrily on such a terrible day?

...

Germay and Japan were digging into a lovely lunch of lizard jerky, chomping the chewy meat between their teeth, and taking sips from bottles of water sent from sponsers. They may have just gotten their entire stack of valueble food and supplies destroyed, yet the Capitol citizens were still taking pity on them.

'So," Germany began after finishing his share, "I propose we go hunting."

Japan raised an eyebrow. "Would that be the best course of action?"

Germany nodded slowly, his blond head shining in the sun. "Ja...it's the final eight. There aren't much of us still left, and if we just sit here, making no kills...we're going to stop getting stuff from sponsers." He held up his empty bottle. "After all, all we've even recieved so far is some water."

The Asian man finished his meat. "But who should we hunt this time? We don't know the whereabouts of Belarus and Russia..."

"There are other targets than those two," Germany said slowly. Thoughts of a dying Italy filled his mind, filling him with both sorrow and fury. "England. It's been long enough. That bastard got away with what he did to..."

Japan looked at his ally, who was gripping his sword and breathing hard. "Germany? Are you all right?"

"Ja, I'm fine, but England killed Italy, Italy..." Germany trailed off again. Before coming into the arena, he hadn't realized what he thought about Italy, regarding the bubbly Italian as an annoying nuissance, but not anymore. Seeing Italy lay on the ground like a pathetic fish out of water made Germany discover how much he'd cared for Italy. And how much he'd taken him for granted. "Let's just get going. If I'm correct, England has made camp on the beach-" He nodded to the green hill that sloped downwards, to the regions that the Nation Careers hadn't had the stamina to travel to yet.

"If that is so, I will help you, Germany-san," Japan said, applying the formal honorific. He grabbed his katana and a knife, while Germany took his own sword as well as a dagger for very close range combat. Filled with grim determination, the two men bounded down the sloping hill, walking along silently and letting the salty breezes ruffle their stressed hairs. Japan and Germany both wanted to avenge Italy, and now was the time to do it. They would wait no longer.

...

"I don't want to die," Sealand whimpered, blood pooling in his mouth, and sunlight glistening off his wet, teared up cheeks. His eyes remained fixed on his older brother. "Am I going to die?''

England took another deep breath, sobs racking his own body. "N-no, you won't. Becuase no matter what, you'll always remain with us. Always." He wiped off Sealand's face. "You were a nation. You always were. The best there ever was." A beautiful smile cracked across the boy's face, like a dutifully rising sun that would never set.

"It hurts so much," The young nation gasped, blood pooling out of his sides, and out of the horrible wounds.

His older brother patted his head. "It'll all be over soon. I promise. Just close your eyes." Indeed, Sealand's eyelids began drooping, the sun that blazed across his face coming down, but in a peaceful sort of way. "You'll be safe. Safe and sound." His breathing began slowing down, and he looked at peace. At rest, and safe. But one question still vexed him.

"England...are you going to win?" He asked faintly, the words barely escaping his lips.

England gupled down the lump in his throta."Yes, yes Sealand. I'm going to win. For you," The Brit promised, patting his brother's hand. Sealand smiled once more, then went totally still, sinking back against the older nation's warm body. The canon shot never stopped ringing in England's ears.

...

"Big Brother, another one dead," Belarus commented to Russia, polishing on of her knives as the canon boomed across the arena.

"Da, I see," Russia answered. "Who do you think it was?"

Belraus made a face. "Hopefully someone that would be no fun for us to kill anyway. Like that scimpy blond girl, or..."

"Oh, what if it was that pathetic little child, Sealand?" Russia laughed at the thought. "He reminds me so much of Latvia, it would be hilarious to watch him die, though, but perhaps he's still open to us!"

"It'd be fun to watch another little child scream to death, like that girl," She turned to her older brother upon referencing Leichtenstein. "By the way, I still say we need to do that again soon!"

"When we find ripe enough pray," The large nation told her. "Still, the younger, the better. Remember how loud and how pitched her screams were?"

"I do!" Belarus guffawed, "I bet we kept the whole arena awake to them!" As the two siblings giggled at the sadistic memory, a silver parachute floated down from the sunny sky, landing daintly in front of them. Russia raised an eyebrow, taking the package in his large hand. He tugged off the parachute and ripped it open.

"Looks like there's something for us," He exclaimed, opening a plain box to find some useful items. Small bottles of water. Matches. Bits of rope, and several packages of food. In addition, there were several throwing knives, which were split evenly between Russia and Belarus, three knives for them each. They would make worthy long range weapons. Which would be needed for later, no doubt. The two nations began muching on some of the food that had been sent to them. It was quite delicous, dried lamb jerky with plenty of salt, which was welcome in replacing the large amounts of sweat they'd lost, along with sugared strawberries and cherries for dessert. The sugar stung sweetly on their tongues. It had been a while since either Belarus or Russia had had bite of something sweet.

After eating, the siblings entertained themselves by practicing with their hew throwing knives. When a rabbit hopped across their path, a well aimed throw from Belarus sent the the poor thing screaming as she twisted the knife around in its body. Although it would feel great to do that to the other bratty tributes.

...

Hungary looked sympathetically at England, as he cried and cried over his younger brother's dead body. He must be beating himself up becuase he'd broken his own promise to keep Sealand safe. Well...he had to make himself win now, then. For Sealand. But Hungary still had some plans of her own. She had vowed to get back home to Austria, to her boyfriend. She was sad for tiny little Sealand too, but her love for Austria came first.

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	27. Chapter 27: Hung

**Okay, those who have already earned a story from me are : A Natsume Yuujinchou Lover, FallingDown98, SailorZeldaTheLightAlchemist, TheNextAlice, Pasta Loving Masochist, and TruDivination. There are still slots left for this, however 3 **

**But I love all of you who have reviewed ! **

**...**

Today was the day. The day Germany finally snuffed out that evasive bastard England, who'd scored a perfect score in training. Who'd slipped out of Germany's grasp at the Cornucopia bloodbath, and of course, who had killed Italy. Well, for one thing or another, it was high time England died. Germany and Japan bounded down the grassy slope to the beach, the salty air whipping around their faces. After about twenty feet, they could see three figures on the sandy beach. One was Hungary, grasping an ax and skillet, one was England...perfect. And the third was England's pathetic little brother Sealand, the small boy was still and covered in blood. The Brit was sobbing over his cold, dead body. How ridiculous.

Anxiety, pleasure, and fear rose in Germany's chest. "Japan," he whispered, "Go after that girl Hungary. I feel that you will be a match for her. I'll go after that bastard England...and get him once and for all," Japan nodded in agreement, and raised his deadly katana. One good slice and Hungary would be dead. The two other nations on the beach were focused on Sealand, with Hungary enjoying the yaoi in the form of England's sobs over his dead brother. Heart pounding, Germany ducked behind a sand dune, his sword grasped firmly in his hand. A low buzzing sound came from behind him, indicating the arrival of a hovercraft. The black structure came closer, and England tenderly touched his little brother for the last time. Then the rope lowered, and the little boy's body was lifted away, never to be seen again.

It was now or never. Germany sprinted out from behind the dune, sprinting toward England with all his strength. The Brit's back was turned to him, watching the hovercraft vanish into the distance. Really, it was a good things Sealand's death came when it did. Hungary and England hadn't even noticed the arrival of Germany and Japan. This might not be so hard after all. Letting our a roar, Germany slashed the iron blade through the air, bringing it down with all his might onto the British bastard's back, tearing through his shirt and drawing up a thin, jagged line of blood. England let out a bellow of pain and shock, whirling around to face Germany, his spear in hand.

"No pathetic little brother this time to warn you, eh?" The German man growled. "Too bad he's dead and white, tucked away in a hovercraft." If Germany had to feel a loss at Italy's death, then England deserved to feel absoloutly broken over Sealand's.

"Shut your dirty mouth," England hissed back, jabbing his iron tipped spear forward. Thinking quick, Germany deflected it with the flat end of his sword. The Brit struck again, and Germany side stepped, slashing England's stomach and tearing his clothes once more, making more blood appear. "Bastard!"

Calling Germany by the title usually reserved for _him_, England brought his spear forward, this time aiming for Germany's head. The after mentioned nation turned his cranium slightly, but not enough to receive a sharp, painful blow to the right part of his forehead, feeling warm, sticky blood trickle down his cheek. Narrowing his eyes, he poked his sharp sword at Britain, causing the nation to wack his sword aside with his spear shaft. Germany pulled back, then slashed forward, not giving England a moment to rest. His rival grunted, stepping back and slamming his spear shaft into Germany's rib cage. He grunted, then slashed yet again, for England's spear to collide with the blow, sending both nations staggering backward across the sand. By now, England was in the water, the blue waves lapping playfully at his feet.

The Germany sprinted forth, his heart exploding so loud he was sure the people watching the Games on television could hear it, and his entire body dripping with rivers of sweat. At the same time, Britain's face was beet red, his green eyes sticking out against the ghastly color. Raising his arm, Germany poked his sharp sword at England's stomach, determined to run it through. But the Brit turned and ran. His sword ripped through his shirt, shredding the back of it to bits and revealing more of England's bloody skin below. Water splashed upward, gleaming weekly in the evening sun. Out of the corner of his eye, Germany spotted Hungary and Japan brawling it out, metal instruments waving and flashing in the air. But his focus remained on England.

The Brit spun about, his eyes narrowed heatedly at Germany, who charged at him, his sword slicing in the air. He aimed for England's neck, determined to cut off that blond head. Again, Britain blocked the German's strike with his spear, then pushed forward, as Germany did the same. Both nations were charged with adrenaline, but a lust for revenge pumped through Germany's veins just as powerfully, wanting more than anything to even the score and chop this wank to pieces one for all.

England struck again. This time Germany was too slow. The cold grate of iron sliced through his ribs, more hot and sticky blood pumping outward and staining his shirt red in a matter of seconds.

"You...fiend!" Germany yelled angrily waving his sword about in a wide arc. With ease, it knocked away Britain's spear and sliced through the man's upper chest in a speedy arc, making for a nice counter strike.

"Wanker!" England screamed back, gritting his teeth in pain at the long cut that had appeared above his heart. The two nations struck again.

...

Katana and skillet collided as the loud clang of steel on steel rang across the beach. Hungary's skillet vibrated in her hand as the Asian man pulled back. Him and his ally, Germany, has seemingly appeared out of no where, coming down from their hideout at the Cornucopia. Well, it was the final seven by now. They were probably just doing some much needed hunting. That didn't mean they'd end up on top, however. No, Hungary could put up quite a fight.

As Japan acted again, Hungary blocked his assault with her pan, then brought her iron ax forth, nearly lodging it into Japan's ribs before he sensed the attack and jumped back, narrowing his eyes at the skillet waving women. Moving gaily, Japan side stepped so that he was located on Hungary's right side, then smashed his sword inward once more, tearing away part of her shirt and drawing a jagged line of scarlet blood. She spun around to face him, bringing forth her skillet to block another hefty sword strike. But Hungary couldn't help but cry out in pain as the after effect of the sword cut seared through her side. Still, she had the upper side.

"Don't give up now, you," She muttered to herself, bending down low to avoid another blow. "You've got two good weapons, you have to get home!" Home. It clanked through her mind as her iron skillet finally found a mark, banging into Japan's nose and squashing it inward like one of Spain's tomatoes and his annual tomato fight holiday. A slight cracking noise sounded through her ears, and Japan scowled at his enemy, now bringing out his knife, the shorter steel blade reflecting flecks of sunlight along with the larger one. He waved the flat end of his sword forward, as Hungary struck back down with her ax, then began to bash her skillet down against the Asian, for it to be brought to a standstill by the short blade of Japan's knife. Not a moment too late.

The short blade went straight into the loophole at the bottom of the skillet's wooden handle, sticking itself in there, halting both weapons firm in place. Hungary's right arm and Japan's left arm both tried to pull the respective weapons back, but to no avail. They were stuck in place. Realizing what this meant at the same time, the nations attacked with their other weapons using all their strength.

...

**In the Hetalian Village**

Switzerland had just been sentenced to death. After he'd stayed in the Russia household, which had become hauntingly still after the deaths of four inhabitants, Switzerland had left and gone home, a mix of emotions tumbling through him. Sadness, depression, and rage at his little sister's torture, but satisfaction and justice at the four deaths that had happened at his hands. It didn't take long for the peacekeepers to find him. They banged rather rudely at his door, arresting Switzerland afterword. He hadn't been too scared. Whatever occurred now, he no longer had to deal with the burdens of the world. Liechtenstein's death. The murders he'd committed.

But anyway, it took the court all of eleven hours to charge him guilty in a pathetic excuse for a trial, and here he was, in the village square, his hands tied together by an itchy piece of rope, two burly peace keepers in white uniforms leading him up a short flight of stairs to a wide wooden platform, like the stage that had appeared here on the reaping. Where Liechtenstein had been chosen to go to her death.

And where Switzerland would meet his. Below him, dozens of Hetalian faces looked up anxiously. He spotted Romano and Spain, Vietnam, FemAmerica with FemEngland and FemFrance. They'd been required to come here and watch Switzerland die. Hardly mattered, as everyone here had been watching their fellow nation perish on television for the past two weeks or so.

A guard taking both his elbows, Switzerland was paraded across the platform, his booted feet clonking ominously against the wood. One of the two peacekeepers, a women, said a few words of how they were taking care of dangerous criminals and ridding the world of evil, then she tied another itchy piece of rope around his neck, as the nation glared forward in dis contempt all the while, his green eyes already dead. It didn't matter that within moments...he would be dead. Time slowed down.

The female peacekeepers tied Switzerland's legs together, then stood him directly above a trapdoor, while his heart began pounding in nerves and fear. Still, his poor little sister had been forced to endure a lot worse. As the evening sun shone on his pale neck, the trapdoor opened.

And Switzerland was cascading. Cascading toward the stone ground in an exactly straight line, his body rigid. Then he stopped falling. For a split second, everything seemed normal. Birds flitted across the sky, and a soft breeze rustled his body. Then the pressure started. It stabbed into his neck, stopping all breathing. The itch on his neck was overwhelming. He wanted nothing more than to reach up and scratch it, but his hands were bound tightly together by another piece of rope, preventing any movement. Switzerland began to flail. Blood welled up in his face, and he was gagging in silence, as red hot flashes of pain ripped through his neck. His eyes lolled upward. Liechtenstein's face appeared above him, smiling and telling him it would be okay, it would be okay. The hair ribbon he'd bought for her stuck out, a reminder of their sibling hood. Which would last even beyond death.

Switzerland's lungs were blazing. It felt as if two plastic bags had been wrapped around them, stopping the flow of oxygen. Above the nation, the peacekeepers watched, waiting for the tell tale signs of death. He began to kick more wildly, but now with desperation. Flashes of black and red obscured his vision, and the entire world began to spin and blur. Fading, fading forever more until the only thing left was Liechtenstein.

His neck cracked, and his emerald eyes moved no more, nor did Switzerland's body.


	28. Chapter 28: Another One Bites the Dust

**Story qualifiers, please send me what type of genre you'd like, which character's you'd like, and if you want Hetalia, HG, or both** **via PM. Remember, more of you can earn stories, so review ! **

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Belgium plunged right into the cool aquamarine water, quite a good distance from where she'd glimpsed England and his allies. She feverishly looked to all sides. He wasn't pursuing her. Phew. Hardly daring to breathe, her shoulders slumped in relief. But still...what about those heinous lizards. Who'd been chasing her earlier? Nope, no sign of them. Well, today was just the evasive nation's lucky day, it seemed. There wasn't any place nearby for the things to be hiding. Still clutching her dart gun, Belgium squinted at where England was. The mutts had found him. Jackpot.

The Brit and his two allies were little more than tiny specks, but she could see them fighting off the mutants. If only of of those things would take care of an opponent...It only took several more minutes for her wish to come true. After watching the distant battle, Belgium heard a canon shot. No doubt one of those three. _Oh,_she thought to herself, _let it be England, just please let it be England. _

Too bad it wasn't him.

And...that's when Belgium saw the dozens of large grey sharks swimming in ominous ellipses around her.

...

Japan growled in pain as the smashing bite of cold steel dug painfully into his rib cage, the result of Hungary's ax. He wanted to scream out in pain, but didn't. A Japanese warrior never gave up. They fought to the death.

Besides, he had endured worse. The horrible bombs America dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki left his entire backside looking like a badly charred hamburger that someone like America would probably still be dense enough to eat, anyway. In front of him, Hungary screeched as the katana slashed across her entire side, scarlet blood soaking her shirt. She drew back her ax for another blow, and Japan heeled his sword at the same time. As she went in again, he quickly whacked the heavy blow aside, avoiding another painful hit. The Asian stumbled backward, but visibly slower. His side was damaged, and possibly several of his ribs were broken. He swallowed hard, bent down low, and slashed at Hungary's ankles, earning himself another clean hit. The Hungarian women cried out in pain and shock once more, yet this time struck back again.

The heavy, hard, and cold hearted metal ax blade dug right into Japan's skull.

...

"Hey Germany," England began, "Where's your little friend Italy? Shouldn't he be here, wailing his head off and waving a bunch of white flags?"

"Go to hell!" To verify his point, Germany lunged forward, striking his blade against England, smashing it into his stomach. Another line of blood appeared, and the Brit grunted, stepping back then jabbing his spear forth, which Germany whacked aside, then went back on the offensive. The cycle continued, spear against sword, sword against spear. Both nations were worn out, ragged, and panting, multiple lacerations on their pale skin. Not realizing what they were doing, the duo had encroached deeper into the salty water, nearly up to their wastes. They were so absorbed in fighting, that the two naturally could not see the on coming dangers...a frantically fleeing nation, and hordes of rabid sharks.

Belgium barreled straight in between Germany and England, like in the first world war. Something she still needed the chance to get back at Germany for. He'd burned her cities, causing her unbearable pain, then slaughtered her innocent people as their screams ripped her apart. All in all, Germany was not a fun person. Yet the sharks were perhaps a more pressing matter. The small nation had been able to wave off several attackers with her long, metal blowgun. Still, the animals wouldn't give up. Belgium had sustained multiple bite wounds, which bled and stung in the blue water.

Germany and England each yelped in shock and surprise, tumbling backward as the speedy girl charged through them. As the cold water made him shiver, Germany realized something else was biting on him. Sharks. A few of the long, grey creatures bit into the German's leg, pain stabbing through him. He cried out, then swing his sword down into the water, finding a target at once, but still there were plenty others. It was practically useless. Swinging his sword about and finding a target every here and there, he sprinted toward the shore, tattered clothes and blood following behind him. England was at about the same level, poking his deadly spear into the sharks around him and clawing for the nurturing safety of land.

Further away, Belgium had managed to jump back onto the sandy shore as well, panting heavily as a stitch blazed in her side. Twenty feet to her left, Germany and England has managed to clamber onto land, and were glaring heatedly at one another, their chests rising and falling in heavy heaves. She could really only hope one finished the other off, or better yet, they stuck each other. But when did anyone here ever have good luck?

The two European nations circled each other like hungry wolves, ready to finish the other once and for all. They waited, and as the seconds flew by, Germany raised his sword up in a wide arc, the hard steel flashing, and swung it down with all the strength his muscular body possessed.

...

For Japan, headaches usually weren't too bad. He often got him when his boss yelled at him, or when America wouldn't stop calling him, but he'd always been able to just take an aspirin and rest for a bit, and all was well. Well, not now.

The blinding hurt in his skull pained so badly he could barely see anything, only blobbing white blurs around him. One of the blurs above him had to be Hungary, who'd he'd been fighting, and then...that horrible ax had dug hard into his skull. The headache continued, and the Asian moaned in misery and pain. He lay flat on the sandy beach, feeling the tiny grains on his skin. Somewhere, he vaguely heard the sounds of soothing crashing waves, terrified screams, and heavy panting. Hungary kicked Japan's side, causing him to moan some more. On his head, another spell of unbearable pain ensued as the ax was yanked out of his skull, blood flowing freely out of his head and onto the ground.

"Please," Japan sighed, tears coming out of his round, black eyes. "Let it stop...let it be over." The faces of his dead allies drifted across his face. China and Taiwan...then Liechtenstein. No doubt, he'd soon be with them. Slowly, the world began melting around him, all sounds dimmed, and everything began fading out of focus even more. Instead of resisting, Japan embraced the peace, his rising sun now sinking deep into the depths of the other world. A canon fired.

...

England thrusted the sharp end of his spear forward, managing to send Germany's sword skidding backward. Turning on his heel, the Brit sprinted with all his might toward Hungary, who was towering over Japan, whose black haired head had just been split open, blood and bits of brain spilling out of it. He grabbed her wrist and continued to sprint with all his might. England's lungs blazed, and sweat poured down in little waterfalls all over his body. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Germany quickly bending over Japan. Good.

Still, Hungary was injured, as her ankles had been slashed, but the two didn't stop running with all their might. Withing minutes, they'd cleared the hill and ran past the Cornucopia, which currently held next to nothing, only some dead lizards. Not stopping for a moment, the two allies plunged into the forest, to a place England vaguely remembered from a couple weeks or so ago. In fact, he'd been running just like this as Prussia and Germany had chucked knives at him, before finding a place. He nearly vomited from exhaustion and relief when he found the spot. Dirt, sweat, blood, and tears stained his clothing and Hungary's. Everyone here was filthy, but there was nothing to be done about it.

"H-here," He rasped, kicking some leaves aside and pulling the ripped and tattered blanket away. "A good spot," Not complaining, Hungary lowered herself down into the hole, and England followed suit, pulling the leaves and blanket back over them. Inside, Hungary packed some dirt and moss over her wounds, as the Brit did the same. They merely leaned against the wall and watched the daily report in the sky. First there was Sealand's face, then Japan's. So that meant the playing field had leveled down to only six left. Not very many...

"Attention all remaining tributes," A voice boomed across the entire arena. England jumped up. It was Claudius Templesmith, he hadn't heard that voice since the first day..."As you are all aware, there is a severe shortage of all supplies in the arena. For this reason, there will be a feast tommorow at noon at the Cornucopia...this may be your last chance." With that, the announcement ended.

After all, feasts meant blood.


	29. Chapter 29: Preparation

**Again, Story qualifiers, please send in your requests if you haven't done so already ! If I don't know what you want, I can't write anything for you...**

**Also, TheNextAlice won my mini contest from last chapter...so she gets two stories :P Thank you to all that guessed ! **

**That being said, enjoy ! R and R !**

**...**

"A feast?" Hungary turned to England.

"Yes...I do think it's where the Game makers decide to send us supplies in the arena, but it's in one small area, and we have to fight over it, which is its whole purpose. Do draw is into direct confrontation." England replied, closing his eyes. "But...at this rate, we may need to go. There are next to no usable supplies in the arena itself, and..." He shook his head. "Well anyway, its not until noon so we'll have plenty of time to rest and gain or energy...I'm confident no one can find us here, anyway."

"Yeah...maybe you're right...it'd be an ideal time to pick off some competition, too." Hungary mused in response.

The Brit could only think one thing: _Hopefully...someone else makes her snuff it before I have to. _

"Perhaps..." Hungary whispered to herself quietly under her breath as she make herself comfortable. "He'll be able to finally die there tommorow."

Despite their unbinding nervousness, and pits of dread in their stomachs, the two nations leaned back and fell into restless sleep.

...

Belgium's ears perked up as she heard the announcement. It didn't take her long to decide what to do, she was going to that Feast. She needed supplies. most of all food and water, and something more than her weapon and the bare clothes on her back. Speaking of which, Belgium would have an advantage over many of the other nations, due to her long range blow gun, and ability to stay hidden in the bushes which surrounded the Cornucopia. It wouldn't be too difficult to pick off a few other nations with her darts then, if they were only running toward the supply heap, which could be anything from a loaf of stale bread to a mountain of supplies similar to what had been there on the very first day.

As she mulled things over, the small nation watched with baited breath as she spied Germany across the beach, a safe distance from her. He was bent over his fallen ally, Japan, shaking his short body and begging the man to stay here, with him. But it was no use...Germany accepted defeat, and let the incoming hovercraft gather Japan's body and carry it out of the arena, and out of the world, forever. Sighing, Germany hung his head and trudged back up to his Cornucopia base , no doubt wanting to get a prime position for the following day's big event.

After she was sure Germany had left, Belgium snuck, softly as she could, up the grassy slope, and found a nice bush to the south of the gleaming golden horn, facing the thick green woods, where she suspected the most tributes would come out of. Keeping her handy blow gun and all of her eight remaining darts close by, the nation curled up behind the shady bush, and closed her eyes, listening to her slow, steady breathing and the lilting melody of crickets to drift off to sleep. ..

...

"We are going to the feast!" Belarus repeated stubbornly to Russia, who shook his head in dismay.

"Da, why? We have plenty of things here, and besides, why risk it?" He responded.

Belarus glared at him. "Those supplies won't last forever, and why not risk it? The feast may be our best chance yet to get another chance to do what we did to that little girl, and we don't want any of them surviving and doing that to us!" Belarus grabbed her older brother's forearm, pulling him close to her with quite surprising strength. "You don't want that to happen, do you Big Brother?"

"I guess not," Russia sighed sheepishly, melting away under his little sister's fervent demands. "We'll go to the feast then."

"Good." The former Soviet nation dropped her brother's arm. "I knew you would see sense. No, before it's time to go to that thing, pack up out things, while I take some beauty rest." Belarus sauntered over to a patch of leaves, pulling a thick yet soft woolen blanket over her.

"Always makes me do it..." Russia sighed wistfully, sorting their knives, and polishing his well sharpened spear. Certainly, Belarus and him had to be the most armed and prepared tributes at the Feast. Really, they almost didn't need more supplies. But of course, he couldn't say no to Belarus, could he?

...

In the hours preceding the event, each Hetalian tribute managed to get some good quality shut eye time, in spite of the nerves welling up in their stomachs, or in Belarus and Russia's cases, excitement. England and Hungary stayed in their hiding hole until dawn, when tweeting of birds and filtering sunlight awakened them, and they gathered their scant supplies, then made their merry ways over to the edge of the woods, hiding behind on of the many well placed bushes, and waiting. Waiting until they nearly went mad from nerves and adrenaline.

Meanwhile, Belarus and Russia were making their way to the Cornucopia, their plethora of weapons in stock, and their eyes peeled for tributes, of which there were none. Naturally, they'd all scampered to the Feast. The sun was in a decent position in the clear blue sky, the rays hitting down on each tribute hard. It couldn't have been later than ten A.M, but it must've already been about eighty degrees at least.

Germany sat inside the golden horn, eating a tiny breakfast of lizard jerky, which, among his anger and nerves, he barely managed to keep down. All of his allies and his love were dead and cold. Oh well, he was probably next, anyway. Not that he wasn't going to at least fight with all his might. The large nation gripped his sword and knife tightly in each hand, pulsing his racing heart into the cold, sharp metals.

Russia and Belarus squatted side by side on the east side of the horn, unknowingly facing England and Hungary, located on the west side.

"I'l stay back here and cover you," Belarus hissed. "You're bigger and stronger than me, and I have better aim with the throwing knifes, so I can pick off however tries to chase you, Brother, and you can get some supplies."

Russia nodded, not arguing with his sister's plan. "Da..."

After what was an eternity of waiting for everyone, there was a rippling on the edge of the grass. At once, the ground opened, and a wooden table lifted up onto the plain, stacked with supplies. There were several packs, Belarus counted three in all, some packs of food and water, and weapons such as machetes, bows and arrows, and spears. "I will go," Russia announced simply. "They can't hurt me anyway."

The tall man strolled out onto the plain, as if he were just taking a walk in the park. He stopped right in the middle of his stroll, looking around as if challenging someone to come out and face him.

...

"Oh bloody hell," England hissed to himself, upon seeing the tall, silver haired man walk out onto the plain. "No one else will go after him now...not without revealing the position. Oh...I guess it'll just have to be me." Beside him, Hungary only gave a curt nod, not showing any emotion to her ally throwing himself into the fray. England gritted her teeth and grabbed his spear, his knife in the other hand.

Sweat beads shining on the Brit's face, he jogged out onto the grass, feeling each pronounced thump of his heart. Lifting his spear above his head, he charged at Russia. On call, a knife whizzed at him, which the nation just detected and dodged, the weapon falling uselessly to the ground. He felt another projectile soaring past him, to where the knife had come from. He barely saw it: a thick iron dart. A small grunt of pain came from behind the bush, indicating the dart had found a victim. Well, that was obviously where Belarus had to be hiding.

Britain and Russia, both wielding spears, charged at each other.


	30. Chapter 30: The Feast

**So here we are...the exciting feast ! More Hetalians are in danger, and we're getting closer to the winner...but who will it be ? Only a couple more chapter left :D **

**Thank you all for the reviews last chapter, they were so kind ! **

Chapter 30: The Feast.

Belarus gave out a grunt of pain, tugging the iron weapon out of her shoulder. She gritted her teeth as her shirt instantly stained with scarlet blood. Growling, the nation ripped off her sleeve, then tied it tightly around the wound, staunching the blood flow. There. THat would be good until Russia and her could get back to their base, at least. Luckily, whichever country who had hit her did not fire again, so she grabbed her five remaining throwing knives and her close combat knife, then peeked out of the bushes.

Brother Russia was locked in combat with the rascal England, who'd earned a twelve on training, beating out everyone else. He was smaller than his enemy, but faster, being able to dodge more blows. Meanwhile, Russia barely batted an eye as England panted and heaved, thrusting his spear at the large nation, only for him to block the Brit's strikes with relative ease. Russia stood in the man's way of the bountiful supply table, making anyone who wanted to snatch something for themselves have to get through him first...or be clever and quick enough to sneak past him.

Someone was. While all the tribute's attention was placed on the fight in front of the gazing eyes, Belgium leaped out of her bush, sprinting in a wide arc across the Cornucopia plain. While Russia's attention was diverted, she snuck up to the table, and snatched a pack of it's surface, then continued running for all she was worth into the thick, promising woods...yet right past Belarus.

The after mentioned nation gave a quirky grin, then reached for a sharp throwing knife. As the blond girl came closer, she drew back her arm and threw the weapon in a neat line. A look of fear and shock filled Belgium's eyes, and she paused, stepping back to avoid the knife's deadly line. At once, Belarus stood up, then rushed towards the other nation, who was only now dawning what was happening. The former soviet nation was only a few yards away when she launched her next knife...and this one was smiled upon by luck. With a pang, it stuck into Belgium's thigh, making the girl shriek in pain, then gingerly raise her blowgun as the danger ran closer. Taking a deep breath past the pain in her upper right leg, she fired right back at the aggressor, landing a clean hit with the dart on Belarus's forehead, the projectile sticking out of it like a small unicorn horn, with more blood dripping down her face.

"You bitch!" Belarus roared, throwing her next knife at point blank range. Eyes widening, Belgium raised her long blow gun once more, and fired with a steady, focused stream of air. The dart and knife left their holders at exactly the same moment.

...

Germany would not allow anyone, or anything, get in the way of him killing England. It just had to be done...England HAD to die, hopefully quite painfully, and at Germany's avenging hands. As the Brit fought Russia, both using spears, Germany shimmied out of the Cornucopia, slowly edging his way to the supply table where the battle raged. By this time, both combatants had gotten several wounds, blood flowing freely to the ground. England darted around Russia's latest strike, then stuck his own spear into the tall man's backside, causing him to grunt in pain. But, being the enormous superpower he was, Russia was not down quite yet. As he straightened out, England backed away slightly, looking tired and weary. Sweat and blood glistened on his sun baked skin.

The tall European nation raised his sword, and sprinted toward Russia. As Germany approached, the man turned, a look of amusement on his face, recognizing Germany, with who he'd fought two bloody wars.

Russia never spilled any words out.

Germany gnashed his teeth, then waved his sword with all the strength in his right arm. Due to being about the same height as his target, the deadly instrument slashed its way straight into Russia's neck, blood spewing out of the opened skin and windpipe like an overexcited garden hose, splashing itself all over Russia, Germany, England, and the grassy grounds. Giving on last ominous smile, but no cry of pain, Russia wilted to his knees, then tipped over, his blood everywhere. _**Boom.**___Hardly anyone paid attention to the canon.

...

Bewilderment and fear passed through Hungary, who sat on her haunches, hidden behind a leafy green bush. Her ally had just gone out to fight Russia, who, in turn, had been worn out before his neck was slashed open by Germany. Behind the trio, the bushes shook and quivered slightly. She guessed another fight must be happening there, between Belarus and Belgium, most likely. England's face portrayed a look of shock and relief as Germany kicked the fallen carcass that used to be one of the most fearsome forces in the Game aside. A hot fire blazed in Germany's piercing blue eyes as he stared the Brit down. Then the sword was ready to taste more thick, hot, and fresh blood of a dying nation.

Hungary gave off a small smile. Currently, there were only five tributes left, four of whom were engaged in fights, and one of whom was sitting still and waiting...her. If all went well, the remaining Hetalian tributes could soon be finished...and Hungary could be left.

..

"Time to finish you off, fiend!" Germany bellowed, barreling towards England. The blond man raised his spear, but Germany, fueled by adrenaline and not having just fought someone else, was stronger and faster. He slammed into England, and wrested him the the ground, punching the living hell out of him. England could only let out an occasional scream as Germany's fists pummeled his windpipe to smithereens.

As cold, harsh iron pressed against Britain's soft throat, his eyes clouded with tears. He'd failed everything. Protecting Sealand... winning for himself...even protecting his fickle ally Hungary...he hadn't done anything he was supposed to. Maybe he deserved death full well. Yes, that was it.

"You'll be with Sealand very, very soon..." England murmured under his breath. His voice was hoarse with blood, dust, dirt, and tears. "Sealand..."

...

The arms were easy enough for Germany to break. He took each one, twisted it, and then chopped them with his fists, relishing England's slight squeals of pain, and the tears flowing out of his emerald eyes. What a weakling. How did he earn a twelve in training. Cracks and snaps of shattering bones were music to the man's ears as he continued breaking his victim's bones, bringing on searing pain which he'd earned for himself. Germany than lay the limp, shaking man on the hot grass, and sat on his knees on top of his chest, the cage of bones sagging under his weight. If he stayed like this, Britain's heart would be crushed, just like Italy's death had crushed Germany's.

The German took the flat, heavy iron hilt of his sword, and bashed it into England's chest, caving in the bones and chest cavity around his heart and lungs. Those teasing green eyes were now dilated in fear and pain, as Germany let out a guffaw of delight. He lifted his knee a few inches off Britain's chest, then slammed it downward. More sickening cracks sang out across the field, blood flowing out of England's mouth and sides, blending with his tears. Next, Germany lifted his hands up, and brought the heels of the appendages down on the cracked chest as well, smashing the hard bones straight into the Brit's heart.

"There...how does a crushed heart feel, eh?" Germany hissed in England's ear. As he twisted himself around, England's ribs stuck out of his side like elongated, grotesque white fingers in the wrong place.

Germany's prey rasped, blood gurgling at the back of his throat. "It...hurts like bloody hell...ahhh..."

A smile flashing across his otherwise emotionless face like a rising sun, Germany lifted himself from England's chest, sneering at the dying nation. One last tear fell from the emerald eyes before they shut for good. One last, rasping breath full of saliva and blood rattled in a deathly plethora of noise from the biggest threat in the Games. England gave one last thought before blackness stole him from the pain of a crushed heart in so many ways. _Sealand...I'm coming..._

The sun set on the British Empire.

That loud, firm canon firing verified the fallen world power who would never come back.

...

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Belarus's yawp of sorrow and rage screeched through the entire arena.

Brother Russia was dead and cold. Her eyes narrowed at once between the feeling exploding with the force of atomic bombs in her chest.

Germany.

After picking off poor Brother, he'd killed another, the blond haired Brit, England. Well, Belarus really only cared about Russia...

Germany. He was going to die a painful death. Right now.

Hardly knowing or caring that Belgium had escaped, albeit bleeding heavily from her knife wounds, Belarus flew like wildfire into the open grass, ignoring the open cuts from where the darts had hit her. Germany was standing over England, looking smug and defiant. With a blazing passion, Belarus's knife came right towards Germany.


	31. Chapter 31: Devil

**Hey everyone ! Sorry for not updating in a while...the end of the school year and finals were hectic, but I'm back on scene now ! Even though there's only a few more chapters left...enjoy !**

**And I have just become an official high schooler I feel so special ! Reviews are welcome !**

An intelligible snarl escaped Belarus's rabid lips, forming an animal like yowl that rumbled across the blood soaked Cornucopia plain, expressing sincere sorrow and rage at the death of Big Brother Russia. His death...was something Germany would have to die for. He'd die slowly and with the most painful torture ever shown in any of the Hunger Games throughout the years. No matter what.

The metallic scent of life juice rose from the grasses, and strewn flesh and bones crackled under her flying feet. The nation's blond hair streamed out behind her head like a exclamatory war banner. Flashes of bright steel glinted from Belarus's hands as her knives shone in the afternoon sun. About six yards in front of her, Germany stood above England's horribly deformed body, yanking the elongated ribs from his sides. The Brit's emerald eyes were glossy and translucent in death, billions of light years away. Well, he'd be no threat to a Soviet victory, at least.

In a way, it was a good thing that the female nation had been able to sneakily stalk Russia and some other unintelligent nations all those years. She was never seen. Belarus could attack without the slightest sign of a disturbance. Perhaps Germany even underestimated her. The tall nation's broad back was but a few feet in front of her, still hunched over England's body and tugging on the ribs as the life blood of a powerful nation stained the grass in shades of maroon and scarlet. As more grumbles escaped her trap, Belarus was on top of Germany. At once, he tensed up and yelled in surprise, unaware of her presence. Adrenaline surged like lightning through her veins and rage burst through her, making her quiver like a fiery leaf. Being the large man he was, Germany pushed upward, trying to throw Belarus off of him. The smaller nation slid back across the bloody grass, but quickly stood back up, her clothing donned with red smears.

"Well this shouldn't be too hard," Germany grunted, rushing at Belarus with a raised sword. With a mighty stroke, he slammed the weapon down, only for Belarus to quickly slide aside, dodging the blow. As Germany moved in again, she took out a long, thin throwing knife and launched it through the air with shaking hands. As it glided through the air, the Germany gave out a small yelp. The knife had stuck in his right shoulder, only enough to wound...but it had done its job. When Ludwig yanked the projectile out of his flesh, a fresh river of blood came cascading downward. So much blood had been shed in this arena that no nation would be phased in the slightest by its appearance now. Not even little Liechtenstein...if she was alive, that was. Which she wasn't.

"I do think," Belarus snarled, "that this will be harder than you think!" She lunged forth, letting her last throwing knife rip lose. Germany gave a slight smirk at her comment, his blue eyes twinkling in a sing song like way. This only made Belarus even more furious. Having been thrown from such a close range, the last throwing knife did its job with masterfully executed skill. The silver metal blade sank with ravishing thirst into Germany's stomach. For a moment, those piercing blue eyes were as wide as plates, almost bulging out of their own sockets. Another red stain quickly ran across the German man's belly, and his breath came out in short rasps. "Well, what did I tell you?"

"Teuvel!" He screamed, pulling the knife from his stomach as his eyes dilated beyond their limit in pain. "Teuvel!" The German word for "devil" rang out once more as Belarus slashed the man's wrists open, even more blood spraying as if blown by a fan in all directions.

"See how this feels," Belarus cooed dangerously, slipping a metal blade under each open wound, and slowly cutting up under the skin on Germany's arms, effectively skinning the larger nation alive. "Ha!" With a sickening split, Belarus cut all the way up to his soldiers, than yanked the skin off his arms, and flinging it aside. She raised her knives again.

...

Hungary wasn't letting another victim slip from her grasp. As Belarus charged with all her strength at Germany, Belgium slinked away into the bushes, looking quite relieved. She jumped on the chance. As the two combatants began to engage in a horrible bloodbath, Hungary sprinted toward Belgium, her ax and skillet outstretched. The evasive nation slipped into the shady green woods, and she continued in hot pursuit, leaves crunching noisily beneath her feet. Belgium began to slow down, weighted down by her bleeding wounds inflicted by Belarus's sharp knives.

"Yah!" Hungary rushed toward Belgium, who spontaneously collapsed to the ground, clutching at her wounds in pain. As the heavy iron skillet swung down in a heavy arc, Belgium deflected the hit with her blow gun, starting to scramble back up. Dodging a swing from Hungary's ax, the small nation raised her gun and fired. At once, a stabbing pain erupted through Hungary's right shoulder. "Ahhhh!" Gritting her teeth, she ripped out the annoying dart, feeling a warm stream trickling down her chest.

Not wasting a moment, Belgium fired again, but Hungary was quicker. The metal pan stopped the dart in its tracks as Hungary leaned forward and, before she knew it, launched her ax with all the strength her body possessed. Eyes filling with fear, Belgium turned, but the ax wasn't going down without a taste of a nation's blood. As the younger girl's screams ripped through the air, Hungary smashed her weak skull in with her ever handy skillet.

For a moment Belgium's body spasmed wildly, then her skull visibly dented inward, Hungary's pan finding a satisfying mark. Small bits of squishy pink brain filled her ears, then her body went limp and still as a rag doll. The very tribute who had been elusive for such a long time was finally gone with the wind. The canon boomed a reassuring victory signal.

...

It was quite a funny thing. Even through the plethora of horrible pain and misery in Germany, he could still focus clear as day on one subject: Italy. Germany saw his chestnut hair dance in the breezes, saw him on the floor and crying after a long, stressful day of training. Saw him shoveling down enormous plates of pasta of all varieties, and cuddling with fluffy kittens. Italy was simply everywhere.

"Germany!" He coddled in his high pitched voice. "Welcome home! Are you coming to me, Germany? Oh, Germany, please come!" A single curl quivered on his head. "Germany..." That very nation's roars of agony pulled him to a terrifying reality. Belarus leaned above him, her face twisted into one of pure diabolic evil and hate. Never had Germany felt somebody want him dead as much as this insane girl.

"For Big Brother!" She screeched, her sharp nails digging underneath the open wounds by his shoulders. His mouth opening into a horrified little O, Belarus reached underneath the skin on his upper back, and with a mighty yank, removed it from his body. Surely, Germany had no doubt he was being skinned alive. No words, not even the vividest of horrible letters, could describe the way Germany felt. There was simply nothing for it.

The delicious scent of mozzarella and garlic tickled Germany's nose. A pot of flowing yellow pasta sizzled and simmered on a messy stove...Italy's stove. Strange. There was no stove, or pasta or Italy anywhere in this damned arena. "Germany! Want some pasta Germany? Oh, please stay for pasta!" Italy's face looked young and healthy, his skin rich and full with rosy cheeks. His hair was neatly combed, except for the ever ecstatic curl lingering on the man's forehead. He wore a neat and clean yellow tunic. He didn't know where it came from, yet Germany had the overwhelming urge to snuggle underneath that warm tunic and never, ever emerge.

Only too bad it wasn't possible, for the next thing Ludwig could guess, the skin was ripped off his face.

...

"This just keeps on getting even better and better!" Belarus cackled manically, twisting and spinning the bloody facial skin in her hands. She could even feel the bits of rough stubble that had been on Germany's face. She looked at her sobbing victim below. He had no skin at all on his face, arms, or upper back. Blood as absoloutly everywhere, and the stench of it was so strong and present that she could actually taste its metallic saltiness on her tongue. Muscle and ripped tissue was omnipresent as well, throbbing in a desperate attempt to stay in the realm of the living. "And for the finale!" Belarus bent down over Germany's chest and curled her fingers inward, looking overwhelming like an evil old hag. In one swift, fluid motion, she reached under his chest, and squeezed her shaking hand with all her life force around the slippery organ of a heart...and stopped it from beating.

...

"Here it's safe and warm, Germany, here you're with me!" Germany snuggled closely into Italy's tunic, which also reaked of pasta and sauces. He embraced the scent, and wrapped his strong sturdy arms around Italy's torso, marveling at the renewed presence of plentiful soft skin on the appendages. Looking up, he lifted out Italy's right ring finger. The ring Ger,any had presented Italy on his deathbed was there, its golden body beaming like a beacon of hope in the bright white light.

For just a second, Germany smiled.


	32. Chapter 32: The Victor

Thank you to all that reviewed last chapter, those reviews were so kind and thoughtful, and they really shaped my motivation for this chapter ! I'm really sorry I didn't have the time to respond to most of them, but I'll respond to all the ones for this chapter, I promise ! I love you all ! *glomp*

Belarus's shaking hand relaxed as it slowly compressed the now dormant heart of Germany. What had been through so much, war, love, death, and sorrow, was now still, never to move again. The warm, bloody organ lended itself to be quite pleasurable to the touch of one particular Soviet. Grinning, Belarus reached her other hand into Germany's opened chest, and kneaded the slippery heart with both appendages, feeling the warmth zap through her fingertips, and then up her arms, a contented sigh following the motion. She proceeded to push aside the cut up purple lungs, then, making sure both her hands had a firm grip on the vital organ of life, Belarus pulled back, and with a burst of strength, yanked Germany's heart from his chest.

"Mmmm," She mumbled, rubbing it against her cheeks and smearing more blood all over her. Still holding the heart, Belarus reached for her knife, then abruptly cut ice cold iron blade of death into the lifeless organ, a look of hatred and disgust washing over her face. "There, so how he likes a ripped heart after what he did to Brother Russia!" The nation cried, bits of heart littering the scarlet grass around her. In fact, Belarus stood in a literal pool of blood, the substance splashing around her ankles as she stood up, and sploshing noisily as the young women made her way across the plain to Russia's corpse, supplies strung over her back. Ironically, his was the cleanest and least disfigured of all, only a narrow red slash on his throat showing the sign of death.

"Oh, Brother!" Belarus sobbed. She buried her face into his broad yet silent chest, inhaling his fading body scent as if her life depended on it, which perhaps could have been somewhat true. As she proceeded to become intimate with her brother's dead body, Belarus heard another loud canon fire boom across the arena, making her hair stand on end.

Whipping her blond head up, the small nation clapped a hand over her gaping mouth. She'd just killed Germany, and relished that canon shot with vigor, so there was no way it could be him. England and poor Big Brother had been dead for far to long for it to be either of them. "Wait...that annoying little dart girl must've escaped me when I had to avenge Brother Russia, and then there was that feisty girl with the pan, so they went after each other! Which means...either Dart Girl or Pan Wacker is now dead."

For a fleeting moment, Belarus allowed her mind to wander to a death that was too good to ever be true: That those two stupid girls managed to finished each other off, and allow her to go home. Alone, but home at least, out of this heinous arena. Yet of course, this would never manifest itself into truth for Belarus.

...

Hungary angrily pushed Belgium's petite, lifeless corpse aside. Aside from a dart gun with only three more darts left to use, the dead nation had nothing of value to purge. If she hadn't killed her now, Belgium probably would've starved to death. Hungary stood up, her weapons in hand, and debated her next move. She could go back to the Cornucopia, what with there being only three more tributes left by now, or run away into the woods, out of direct confrontation. The two remaining tributes, Belarus and Germany, were most likely fighting with each other, and she did have the longest distance dart gun, so with good timing, perhaps Hungary could pick both hostile nations off. Then...and then...she could go home. Never to see any corner of this dreadful, bloody arena ever again. Back to Austria's peaceful piano serenades and loving arms...back home. Back to something worth fighting for.

Taking a deep breath, she loaded the last few darts into the long metal barrel, and hoisted her ax onto her back in order to carry the new weapon. If all miraculously went well, Hungary would catch Belarus and Germany in the middle of their vicious brawl, and claim the title of sixty sixth Hunger Games Victor for her very own.

...

A mixture of glee, sadness, and a dim relief washed over Belarus as the silent black hovercrafts hoisted up the corpses of Germany, Russia, and England, carrying the deceased nations out of the awful arena forever, then shipping the mangled bodies back in austere wooden crates back to the Hetalian village. "Goodbye, Brother," Belarus whispered, hanging her head down low. "I'll come back for you, I will."

_Whoosh_

With a gasp, the small nation barely jumped aside as a sharp metal projectile zoomed her way. She caught a glimpse of it as it flew by her face. One of Belgium's darts. That meant...the pathetic girl herself was now trying to kill Belarus, then take the title for herself. Belarus's eyes narrowed as she grabbed a knife from nearby, the one she'd used to end Germany. She sensed a second dart come near, and twisted her body around, yet not enough to fully avoid the iron weapon.

"Ugh!" Belarus screamed as the dart stuck into her left shoulder. At once a warm, steady flow of sticky scarlet blood flowed down her side. Ripping it out, Belarus drew back her right arm, then let the knife rip. Hopefully it was ready to end two lives in one day. A loud clanking rang out from about ten yards in front of her. Not wasting any time, she withdrew her close range dagger, and feverishly raced toward the spot, her feet slopping across the blood soaked ground. The defeated blades of grass had already drank up so much blood, it wouldn't make a difference now if Belarus just made one more gory kill by cutting her prey open and dissecting her bit by bit. As the thought crossed her mind, tingles shot through her spine, and her lips cracked into the small ghost of a smile. Who sad killing had to be such a heinous process?

...

"One more dart, make it count, you!" Hungary yelled under her breath as she loaded the last dart. Her second fire had hit Belarus in the neck, causing some heavy bleeding but not enough to be fatal. "Here goes..." Air that stang with the tangent scent of the blood of nations filled the girl's lungs as she inhaled, placed her quivering lips on the cool edge of the gun, then exhaled a fast and steady flow of air up the long tube to launch what could save her life. Sure enough, the iron dart zoomed out of the weapon, blending in with the clouding sky above. With bated breath, Hungary watched as the dart flew toward Belarus, then stuck right into her right forearm. Hungary cracked a grim smile. Belarus threw with her right arm, so her throwing would be shabby, at least. Above the two, thunder crackled and boomed, and a brilliant flash of lightening ignited the entire arena sky...then cascaded to the Earth...and to the arena.

Yelping, Hungary was literally hurled into the Cornucopia plain as the trees and bushes around her burst into red hot, dancing flames that purged the entire arena of its sins and horrors, leaving only the area where the Games began as a fighting ground.

"So you're the other finalist..." A malevolent voice growled above her. "I expected that pathetic dart girl, but oh well, you'll do."

Hungary narrowed her gaze. "Oh yeah? Well I killed Belgium, and I can certainly do the same to you!"

"Well, let's see it then!" Belarus lunged. Cold steel flashed above Hungary, and she only had a split second to react. Thinking fast, she whacked Belarus's knife aside with the blow gun, then sidestepped, bringing out her skillet. "Let's have some fun, shall we?" Like the lightning that flashed across the sky, Belarus turned, then plunged her knife blade into the loop at the bottom of the pan's handle, effectively locking the two weapons and both combatants into place.

"Hah! Got you!" Hungary whopped. But there was only a nasty smirk on Belarus's think face. The South European nation could only remember raising an eyebrow when the cold, painful bite of steel tore into her side. "AHHHHHHHH!" Spots danced like evasive fairies across Hungary's vision, as pain bit into her left side, and Belarus let out a gleeful guffaw.

"Going to kill me now, are you?" The former soviet sneered, preparing for another blow.

Hungary's hand reached steadily for her other faithful weapon. "Actually...you're not the only one who can play this game," she said slowly, speaking through a repulse sticky heat in her mouth. With a graceful spit, blood spattered all across Belarus's face, right from her opponent's mouth. Her arm drawing back, ignoring her screaming body, Hungary dove her ax sideways, down at Belarus. Eyes widening, the nation turned slightly in order to avoid a deathly blow to the side...but was met with a lovely chop to the thigh. Screams of agony ripped through the smokey air together, the prospective victor in each pushing over the other.

No longer able to support much of her weight, Belarus thumped to the ground. Her knife and Hungary's skillet, still locked together, pulled the second female nation down with her, and the two grappled on the ground, wrestling and rolling on each other to come out on top, echoing their earlier screams. Hungary was on top on top one moment, prepared to strike Belarus fast and hard with her skillet before the sadist tugged back her arms and pushed her over. Without being aware, the two nations were rolling closer and closer to the inferno that blazed on the edge of the plain.

Belarus slammed all her weight down onto Hungary's shoulders, pressing her free hand onto the girl's throat. Each nation only had one available hand, two being locked along with the pan and knife that neither was willing to let go of. The two locked weapons were the most valuable ones they had, the ones that could very well mean the difference between life and death. Hungary's other arm sprang up to wrest Belarus's away from her throat, but the nation was prepared. Growling, she slammed her foot down onto Hungary's free arm, pinning her down onto the ground. "No little loser music pansy to help you now, eh?" She purred, spitting in Hungary's face. "You're done!" Belarus stabbed her sharp knife into the girl's cheek, cutting deep into the tongue. Her eyes widened in pain and alarm, yet she remained silent.

Which was then the fire caught her.

First Hungary's light brown hair lit up, puffs of smoke rising up from the stinking blaze. Belarus grunted, then quickly jumped back, heaving heavily. Her vision spun, along with the smoke, heat, and screams. One last kill. That was all she needed. Taking a deep, semi calming breath, she sprinted forth, sprang up, and brought her knife down as hard as she could through Hungary's chest, i paling through her heart, and down to the soft earth below.

Hungary was dead. Belarus had won.

But...she hadn't enjoyed the final kill one bit. Maybe sometimes it was better to let other people live...if not in an arena and forced to fight to the death, of course. Peeking down, Belarus saw Hungary's face and body, disfigured and serene in death. Her green eyes gazed solemnly up at the dark, swirling sky, and her hand still clutched her beloved skillet. Which she'd be buried with. Belarus gingerly knelt down, and removed her knife from the pan's loophole, and left Hungary to be.

Finally, the moment every tribute had hoped to hear from the reaping, the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith boomed across the entire arena. "Congratulations to Belarus of Europe, grand Victor of the Sixty Sixth Hunger Games!"

Alrighty, all that's left now is the epilogue, which will hopefully be up before Thursday. Thank you for sticking with me all the way through, and sorry this update took so long !


	33. Sequel!

**Hey Everybody! **

**First off, I'd like to thank all of you that reviewed and followed this story for its duration, and I couldn't thank you all enough for the inspiration you gave me. Without you, Hetalians in the Hunger Games would never have happened. That being said, the first chapter to this tale's SEQUEL, Into the Abyss, is now up and on my profile. So if you want to check it out go ahead :3 Thanks again to all that reviewed and followed, and Merry Christmas to all! **

**Clarinet97 **


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